A Study In A Chemical Defect
by writingrubbish
Summary: Ramona is running from a dark past to London with her best friend, and ends up moving into 221C, having various encounters with a certain detective, Sherlock Holmes. Despite both of their efforts, the two grow closer and more attached every day, but with all the mix ups, arguments, interruptions, and the occasional evil genius, will their feelings ever prevail? *SHERLOCK/OC*
1. Arabella

**Arabella - Arctic Monkeys**

* * *

A fresh faced girl exits the only home she's ever known, with an admittedly cold farewell.

She swings a black rucksack onto her narrow shoulders and pulls along a red wheeled suitcase with her right hand.

Already feeling the surprising heat, she decided she had dresses in the wrong attire for the rare chance to actually tan her skin, which looked almost translucent in some places it was that pale.

Blue ripped skinny jeans accompanied a white top, leather heeled Chelsea boots, a leather jacket, and a pair of aviator sunglasses to shield her big azure eyes, flecked with jade. Her hair came in tones of champagne, platinum, and gold, and had a side parting. It reached to just below her shoulders, all the same length. It was a guarantee that her fantasies of long, flowing mermaid-esque hair would never come true.

She paused for a split second on seeing the already heaving train station.

It was full to bursting of people just like her, on their way to university in London. Most were with their parents and family, and the fact that she was alone almost got to her.

She walked purposefully through the crowds, dodging and weaving. She decided to stop off and get something to eat, considering she hadn't had anything for fifteen hours, three minutes and four seconds. She stopped at a small shop, fished for some change, and bought a green apple. She took a satisfying crunch, and then continued.

Spotting her train, her stomach did an unexpected flip. she sighed quietly to herself. She really did hate having feelings. As she got closer, she counted the carriages. There were fifteen on the concrete coloured train. She took out a folded ticket from her back pocket, and realised she would have to walk the length of the train. As much as she had protested, her mother had booked her a first class seat. She walked past the crowded standard class carriages. The girl watched people filing into the train, and she joined them, in the last carriage.

Being blinded by her own train of thought, she bumped rather violently into a women, and, looking up to apologise, she did what she had always done since she could remember.

Female, Caucasian, early thirties, no, late twenties, stupid. She kicked herself mentally. Coming from London for a break visiting family, her sister. Doesn't seem too happy about it. Judging from the dress and frown lines so early in life, I'd bet on a business woman, under a lot of stress. A lot. The brand of make-up she's wearing can only be bought from a special, extremely expensive and exclusive one off shop in France, indicating she's out to impress, and is single.

"Watch it! Idiot!" _I can't tell if that's the stress or the Londoner in her talking._

"Say hello to your family for me whilst you're trying to impress them, would you?" She watches as the woman's face flits through emotions, shock, anger, back to shock, and the reassuring confusion that meant Ramona had guessed right, except that was always the case.

"I- I'm sorry?" She paused, wondering if she should continue on her path on confirming this woman of her worst fears. "How... How do you know that?" Her eyes were wide.

"I didn't know, I guessed. I know now though." She smirked. "Listen, your sister's probably jealous of all your success, or something."

"Thank you-" She said, looking to the leather clad eighteen year old, searching for a name.

"Ramona." She replied. The older woman smiled a genuine smile.

"Have a good day."

"Have a good life." She left the woman coldly, and left her slightly in shock that someone could know all that, and then leave as if it was nothing. She mused as to the fresh hell normal people must face in their lives every day, not knowing everything there is to know about a person within five minutes of meeting them.

She smiled to herself. As arrogant as it sounded, she loved how her mind worked unapologetically. How the cogs turned. Never been smart, but always observant, always able to piece together the complicated puzzles that were people. As far as she could tell, this was a unique talent that she possessed. _Or perhaps I'm being pretentious again_. She shrugs indifferently and puts in her headphones, and slides into her window seat, putting her larger red bag on the holdall above, and puts her rucksack in between her feet. part of a six, with a table, thank god. she doesn't bother to take her sunglasses off, the sun still blaring in her face.

"Ramona! This is happening! We're moving to London!" she squeals, as an old woman with white hair glares over at them, annoyed. Ramona almost jumps up out of her seat at the sudden noise.

"I don't think the whole train needs to know that, Hannah!" she says, chuckling and pulling her best friend into the seat next to her.

"Sorry! I'm just really excited!" she had an extremely endearing personality, one that reminded Ramona of a golden retriever. loyal, innocent, and 100% happy at all times. you couldn't help but adore her.

"Wonder who we're sharing this with." Hannah wondered out loud.

"Seeing as we're in first class, I'd be surprised if we got any more people on this carriage." She said.

And, as if just to prove her wrong, two men walk over, and slide into the seats opposite them.

The men were an odd pair, and that was putting it lightly. The one opposite Hannah was a small man, with a weathered face and wearing a jumper.

The man next to him could have been a polar opposite. Her mouth parted slightly, already feeling drawn in by the surprisingly enigmatic eyes that were focusing on his phone.

He had high, sharp cheekbones, with curly raven hair, that had a chaotic order to it. His eyes were sapphires compared to his alabaster skin, an angular nose and a killer cupids bow. He was dressed sharply, in an expensive looking coat, and a suit with a purple shirt, a few buttons casually undone, to reveal a beautiful neck, as he turned his head to look out of the window.

She didn't know why she felt the way she suddenly did, but it made her feel physically ill.

Ramona knew one thing for sure: This man was trouble.

* * *

**First chapter! **

**I hope you liked it, and please give it time to pick up! I'm afraid I can't write the action in straight away, so please keep going!**

**Thank you so much for reading! **


	2. Fluorescent Adolescent

**Fluorescent Adolescent - Arctic Monkeys**

* * *

_Love a good first impression._ The smaller man smiles at the two girls. _Male, 30's, Caucasian, military background. He pulls out his phone, on the back there's an engraving 'Harry Watson, From Clara' and then several x's. A gift from a lover, definitely._ He then turns it slightly, and she sees the roughed up corners of the charger hole._ A drunk?_ She watches the mans steady, small hands. _Who can blame him though, being ex military_. She glances at the table to look at the tickets. _The names on the tickets are Sherlock Holmes and John Watson. From his brother then. He obviously broke up with this 'Clara' person. Drunk brother, then. Medical profession. Doctor._

"For god sake Ramona, do you have to?" Ramona snaps out of it, to grin with delight at Hannah.

"You love it really." She sighs in exasperation, as if the conversation has already been won by her cocky companion.

"Fine, but I'm not breaking up another fight, it was my new years resolution." John looks extremely confused by this vague exchange.

"John." the girl with the sunglasses smiles, and leans back, happy that this would start a domino effect of exchanges, also known as a conversation.

"Um, hello? Sorry, I don't think I-"

"which was it, Iraq or Afghanistan?"

His jaw drops, Looking extremely shocked. John looks up at Sherlock, and then at her, stunned.

**Sherlock**

"How.. how do you know that?" _I must admit, that's something I'd like to know as well._ _And why is she quoting me? A fan? Let's not rule it out yet. _His eyes wander to her earbuds, then to her hands, and skinny fingers._ Guitar player, since she was around eight years old. Electric mostly, rarely acoustic. We got on at Leeds. she must be from the surrounding area._ He notes her slumping posture. _Not that well to do. Middle to working class at best. She's well spoken, but with a northern friend, much louder, much more northern. Nearly all the people her age are here to come to London and start university._ His eyes flickered over her, but nothing else was coming to him. He turned to her friend to make sure he hadn't had some sort of brain anuirism.

Instantly, he got a bad feeling. There was something seriously off about this girl, about both of them._ It seems her friend had almost served the deductions to him on a silver platter, as if planting evidence on herself, however, the leather donning girl opposite me either hid it with a talent, either that or she had nothing to give. But that didn't make sense. It couldn't._

**Ramona**

"I didn't know, I simply observed. now I know." Hannah mouthed the whole thing along with her, extremely exasperated and embarrassed by Ramona's behaviour.

"It was Afghanistan. how did you know?" she laughs quietly.

"Your posture screams military. However, You're not a soldier now though. A doctor-" Sherlock's smiling now, deciding the backlash should begin.

"Which university?" she lifts an eyebrow.

"University College London." Her voice came out more confrontational than intended. She supposed he would keep her entertained for the ride. _Well groomed, but for himself. By his suit, not a businessman. Of course not. Violin player, very good one at that. the way he holds his head, and the slight dentation on his chin from the rest. Can't say I'm surprised, a pretentious man deserves an instrument to suit. Native Londoner definitely. Self employed. Off duty lawyer? Bored man with a large trust fund who thinks he has the brains to match? Hm, no... Detective? private detective. Incorrect. It seems he'd be more than that. He's professional, not amateur... Consulting? he seems the type to make up a job to suit himself. Old friends, maybe? No, I have a feeling he doesn't have many of those. Flatmates then. Not a house. Central London naturally._

"Unfortunately though, that's very obvious. The median age of the population of the train, matched with the time of year, basically throws it in your face." She tapped her fingers on the table between them. "The real intelligence lays in the stuff that you have to work for. How long have you been flatmates? Also, how long have you been a..." She knew she'd be laughed at if she got this wrong. "A consulting detective?"

Hannah rubs her temples as John roll his eyes. The two 'intelligent' voices fade into the background. John looked across at the young girl, chocolate hair spiraling every which way, and tamed with the front clipped back. John decides to outstretch his hand across the table.

"I'm John, if you hadn't already gathered." He says with a smile. She beams at him.

"Hannah." they shake hands for two seconds.

"Are we in the same boat?" She says with a laugh, half nervous, half excitement.

"Afraid we most probably are."

"I'm sorry about her, I swear, most of my time is spent being embarrassed by her antics!" John chuckles.

"And the other half running around after her?" Her eyes widen, as if her mind has been read.

"We need to make a support group, there might be more victims!" She exclaimed. They both laugh.

Sherlock opens his mouth and sharply intakes breath, as if to speak, but snaps it shut, Ramona able to hear his teeth connect.

"So, what are you girls going to study?" John asks, obviously just making conversation. Hannah was the first to answer.

"well, I'm going to be doing dentistry for 5 years at Queen Mary's." Hannah said, with an excited smile.

"And you?" she turned her gaze to him, and for some reason he suddenly wished he hadn't asked. The intense and cold aura she gave off was an extreme polar opposite to the warm and friendly girl besides her.

"Criminology, Forensic Science, Law with Mandarin, Business, and Chemistry." she said, tone as straight as her face.

"That's... A lot of work." John exclaimed.

"It's not like I can't handle it." she retracted back into her invisible wall, cold and unapproachable. John realised she had not made any attempt to keep the conversation going, neither had she inquired about him. The good doctor decided to turn to the one normal human being in their compartment.

The scenery changed, the train leading them out of the city and into the countryside, occasionally passing small towns and villages. The train mainly ran on the east coast of England, and Ramona was expecting to see the sea anytime soon. Hannah and John continued to chat about menial things as Ramona looked back at Sherlock.

"Do you think I can't see you behind these?"

"Vice versa." He quipped.

"If I take them off, will you stop looking at me?" He immediately turned his head to look out of the window.

"So, what's it like being a consulting detective?"

"Interesting, if you're as smart as me." His tone was cold.

"Are you attempting to be funny, or arrogant, or both?" he cocked an eyebrow.

"Are you attempting to be cool, mysterious, or both?"

"All of the above." she said with a cold smile that sent a chill through Sherlock, like someone had walked over his grave. He decided to hide under the pretense of being uninterested.

"You can't deduce a thing about me, can you?"

"I have an international reputation." He turned to her."Do you?"

"Whatever. I already know everything there is to know about you Mr Holmes, it's actually quite boring."

"what else do you know?"

"do you really want to know?" she leaned in, and he made a short sound that resembled a laugh.

"You're an eighteen year old I met on a train, not a palm reader." She shrugs.

"Fine. An older brother, in a place of power, the government. He loves you, in his own way, and watches over you, in his own way." She looks up at the camera in the carriage. Sherlock follows her gaze and his expression doesn't change. "You don't have many friends, in fact, john here may be your only one. Live together, share a flat, not a house. You trust him. You've lived around London all your life, north of course, going by your accent. Like to act like your above everyone else, because of your IQ of around one ninety. Truth be told, most people've hated you for it your entire life. Haven't had sex in at least the last six months. Surprising, as you have almost a perfectly symmetrical face, with memorable features. Perhaps it wasn't that you couldn't get any, you simply didn't want it. You were a smoker, but apparently you've given up." She tries not to roll her eyes. "It's nicotine patches now, and in big doses. that's not healthy, is it?" Sherlock's mouth parts slightly, before shutting again.

"Correct." He states, crossing his arms stubbornly and leaning into his seat.

"Obviously." Ramona smirks arrogantly. the train comes to a slow stop, and everyone gets up to collect their bags from the overhead. Sherlock and Ramona face each other, hoping for each other to start a goodbye first.

"well, its been interesting..." he searched for a name as she placed her hand in his large hand that engulfed her own.

"Ramona. Ramona Doherty." She takes off her sunglasses and places them in her jacket pocket. Sherlock is suddenly turned to stone, and he begins to worry that he has fallen victim to Medusa. Her big eyes were mostly mixtures of pale and dark blue, however had flecks of green and gold in then. He remained frozen as he watched them get ready to depart.

"Ramona Doherty." he repeated to himself, trying the name in his mouth, breaking it up into easy, digestible pieces. As the doors opened, and the muffled sounds of King's Cross came flooding inside the carriage, Ramona turned to him, for one last time to him.

"Oh, and by the way, stop trying to get girl's pulses. I don't fancy you, please never flatter yourself like that again." he clenched his jaw and looked away. John stifled a laugh, and Sherlock shot him a warning look, which only fueled his amusement. Sherlock felt as if his was burning. Outwitted by an eighteen year old, and he called himself smart.

Hannah beams, and walks beside her, pulling out a small crumpled piece of paper.

"Okay, the address..."

"I remember, don't worry."

"God, I can't believe this is happening." Ramona laughed happily. "I just, I feel like this is what we've been waiting for."

"You're like an excited labradoodle, honestly." Hannah looked at her, mockingly offended.

Sherlock was at the other side of the train station by now, waiting for John. they reached the cabs together, both going for the same one, and after a toxic glare from Ramona, Sherlock moved to the one behind them.

"Where to?" the cabbies ask them, as John joins Sherlock.

"221 baker street." The four of them say in unison. They all pause and turn to look at the other pair.

"Er, Actually, we'll just share with these, sorry." John says in disbelief. The cabbie grumbles in response.

* * *

**Hope you enjoyed it! **

**The first opening chapters are quite short, sorry **

**Thanks so much for reading!**


	3. Evil Eye

**Evil Eye**

* * *

The four of them piled into the cab, and they were parallel to each other. It was silent for 5 seconds. Ramona saw Hannah physically cringe. Another five second silence. Then Ramona felt a growing smile and a laugh creeping up her throat. Suddenly they all burst out laughing. Ramona noted Sherlock's laugh, a laugh that would fill an empty, dead room and fill it with life. His voice was extremely deep as it is, and there was something comforting about it. Johns laugh was adorable, and Hannah was, well, Hannah all over hearty, real, and lovely to hear, like music that came out of one of those boxes when you opened them and a ballerina started dancing. Ramona decided that Hannah was that ballerina. Although, today it felt orchestrated. Like she was feigning shock. As if she had been expecting this. Something felt off about was surprisingly the first person to regain their breath, and pipe up.

"This is very odd" Everyone nodded in agreement.

"So, if this isn't rude, how are you guys going to pay for the rent? I really hope you don't take offence" John gushed. The last thing he would ever want to do was hurt someone. Ramona liked that a lot. An extreme polarity to the man next to him. Ramona decided she was going to reply.

"Well, we're gonna get part time jobs, I can teach guitar and piano, we've got our student loans, and Hannah's parents are military, so she gets a bursary." Hannah blushed and looked embarrassed. "Also, the landlady, Mrs Hudson, is my great aunt." Ramona smiled.

"You girls are going to be extremely busy, aren't you?" Sherlock spoke up. Ramona was almost surprised.

"That's the plan" Everyone smiles.

"How do you feel about the violin?"

"How do you feel about the guitar?" Sherlock got the message.

The taxi pulls up outside 221 baker street. Taking a deep breath, Her stomach does multiple flip. Mrs Hudson is waiting outside. Hannah and John split the taxi fare, insisting. Not that the others were going to protest anyway. I'd rather be rich and rude than poor and polite. Sherlock knows that. They get out of the taxi and Mrs Hudson pulls Ramona into a crushing hug, which for her frame and age, surprised Ramona.

"I see you've met the boys! They said they'd be getting the train back, what a coincidence! I do hope Sherlock hasn't scared you off, we had interviews a while back for that flat, but that's exactly what he did to them!" Mrs Hudson cried, and Ramona couldn't help but smile largely, it was the most genuine of smiles from her in a long time. Perhaps London would be good for her.

"Mrs Hudson, I did not 'scare them off', I simply asked them questions, they were boring and annoying, and if they cant handle my deductions-"

"Most of them ran off in tears Sherlock!" exclaimed Mrs Hudson. Sherlock and John sighed, Hannah giggled and exchanged a look with Ramona, who was smiling.

"Now dears, these are your keys." She placed 2 small silver keys into Hannah's open palm. "I'll leave you to get settled." she smiled at the two "If you need anything, don't hesitate to ask. You're family."

"you've already done enough Mrs Hudson, please I'm going to get Embarrassed if you're any nicer to us" she shooed the woman inside the building.

"so, we're not boring and annoying?"

"Not yet. Your attitude and attire led me to believe you wouldn't care anyway, however?" Ramona rolled her eyes. Is he always like this? its annoying as fuck, if you'll pardon my language.

She turns to Hannah "I'm gonna stay out here for two minutes Han, alright?" The brown eyed girl nodded back.

"Never took you for a smoker, Ramona." Sherlock breathed behind her.

"No, you wouldn't, would you?" She said, not bothering to turn to face him, and pulling out a small box of Marlboro Gold from her leather jacket pocket. If there was something she didn't try to save money on, it was her cigarettes. He scowled, Noticing them. Bloody good, I do not care about your stupid cravings, I need a cigarette. Get out of here. Pulling a white Bic lighter out of the same pocket, she turned around to light the cigarette already in her mouth

"Want one?" she said, cocking her head to the side innocently. And then looking up to the heavens, she blew smoke into the night sky, that was completely starless, thanks to the London air pollution. She decided she was not helping this issue. Sherlock went completely rigid, and keeping his jaw tense, he stormed inside. He had a feeling she was nothing but bad news.

* * *

**Sorry for the short chapter**

**Thanks for reading!**


	4. Watch You Change

**Watch You Change**

* * *

_Long legs pounding against weathered tarmac. heavy breathing. profanities muttered under these sounds. Muffled sobs. His face. Again and again. Over and over. So pained. So helpless. scuffed hands. Blood appearing from nowhere on her clothes. Crumpling into the darkness, sinking into the pavement and drowning._

Ramona woke up to salty cheeks and a wet pillow. Again. Someone was knocking on the door. The red digits on her alarm clock screamed 5:54 am. suddenly she was carrying herself to the door, in plaid pyjama shorts and a black vest. wiping her face, and taking a deep breath, she unlocked the several door locks, and opened it. Sherlock was watching from halfway down the stairs.

"Everything ok?" John asked.

"Y-yeah." shit. her voice had broken and betrayed her, now they would know something was wrong.

"I, um, just a bad dream." A forced laugh.

"You don't look okay. You've been crying. Hard. Your voice is hoarse from screaming blue murder. Probably flashbacks from a traumatic experience." Sherlock said, _having to be the one to enlighten us with his superior intellect. Dick._

"Firstly, you're wrong" Ramona lied, exchanging scowls with Sherlock "Secondly, I didn't know I was screaming." Ramona said, rubbing the back of her neck and looking down at her slipper clad feet.

"I'm sorry John," Sherlock noted she didn't apologise to him. "you must be dreading being my neighbor." John was shaking his head, while Sherlock was shrugging in agreement. Hannah suddenly appears from behind Ramona.

"Whats happened now." Ramona smiles, looking at her friends hair, that widely resembled a birds nest.

"Deep sleeper." Ramona smiled, her laugh now genuine."I'm really sorry for waking you. See you in the morning." John looked hesitant to leave. For the first time ever, Ramona thought she saw a flicker of concern flash across the detectives face. It was probably nothing.

Hannah waltzed around the airy, light apartment, morning sun starting to creep through the half opened windows. The floors were all oak wood, with white washed walls. The furniture had arrived a few days before them, and Mrs Hudson had been as kind as to move it into place. She heard the shower turn off and her flatmates footsteps pacing around her room. Ramona walked out wearing Black trainers, black leggings, a white oasis top and a blue denim jacket. Hannah drew a breath and opened her mouth, but before she could speak Ramona butted in.

"Not hungry, going to go check for post." she glided out of the door, not missing a beat.

Ramona raced down the flights of stairs, admittedly making a lot of noise. but she was excited. extremely so. She was to recieve details of her university education in the post 'any time this week'. Although she was a self diagnosed super-pessimist, she was very hopeful that the big white envelope would be in front the big black door. She reached the pile of post, and rifled through envelopes. bill, bill, plea for Sherlock's help, death threat, postcard for Mrs Hudson, BIG WHITE ENVELOPE ADDRESSED TO RAMONA DOHERTY! As she stood back up, still facing the door, a big pair of hands covered her mouth and wrapped around her waist.

Ramona's instincts kicked in, and racked her brains to remember her what to do. Lifting her her left knee towards the ceiling, she quickly brought her left foot back with extreme force, to collide with the attackers crotch. An audible "UMF" was heard, but he still demanded to cling onto her. Ramona's right hand flew back, desperate to gain control of the situation. She bit down scarily hard on the assailants hand that covered her mouth, easily drawing blood. His hand flew back with shock, as she placed her foot behind his. She pushed him back, and twisted his leg while he tripped on her foot, making a sickening crunch noise, but still managing to keep his balance. Without thinking, Ramona threw a powerful fist into his nose, and then another into his eye. Then, all too late, she realised the assailant was Sherlock.

"Why'd you do that?!" He in pain and shock, holding his non bit hand to his nose, trying to sustain the blood pouring out of his nose.

"WHAT!" Ramona cried, causing her 'attacker' to shuffle back out of fear. "YOU SNEAK UP ON ME LIKE THAT, AND EXPECT ME TO KNOW IT WAS YOU! YOU IDIOT! WHY THE FUCK WOULD YOU DO THAT!" Her voice boomed around the ground floor, and Ramona thanked her lucky stars that Mrs Hudson was out.

"It was an experiment!" The detective shouted back in defense, his baritone voice reaching new levels. "I was going to test my theory to see if your little episode last night had anything to do with a past trauma, and I was right. You lied." Sherlock said, with a strangely smug look on his face, considering he'd just recieved a black eye and a possible broken nose from Ramona.

"Oh, well it was an experiment, your honour, I didn't actually attack her." She mimicked him. "Any healthy and alert woman who went to self defence classes would have reacted the exact same way." She crossed her arms, wondering if this man was sound in the head.

"Yes, but not quite like that. You screamed before you even knew i was there, that's something only a traumatised or highly paranoid person would do. and you don't seem to be the latter" The detective replied, wincing at the pain that was screaming in his body.

"You know you could of just asked me? It would be a lot less of a... painful experience." Sherlock rolled his eyes, and hid his smile behind his hand that was cradling his maybe-broken nose.

Ramona crouched down to pick up her envelope and tucked it in her pocket. "C'mon then Sherlock, lets get you sorted out." She smiled genuinely at the injured man "Lean on me." Ramona held out her arm to go around the six foot detective, making him feel like the smallest man to ever walk on earth, who could feel his pride slipping by the second. He sighed heavily, and then begrudgingly obliged, grunting at every step he took towards his flat.

Sherlock

Sitting Sherlock down on an armchair, she began to search his cupboards. rookie mistake. He expected a girly scream or shriek, but nothing of the sort escaped her.

"Sherlock, do you keep a first aid kit in the flat?" A very professional and serious tone took her over.

"Aren't you going to ask about all the human body parts?" The detective asked with a quizzical tone.

"Experiments, I presume. Unless you're some kind of perverted serial killer, and you don't seem to be the latter." The injured man smiled.

"third cabinet on the left. Watch out for the foot." Sherlock added, causing Ramona to smile, displaying an impressive set of white, perfectly straight teeth. For reasons unknown, this caused Sherlock's stomach to react strangely. His nose bleeding had been reduced to a trickle, but this still seemed to worry Ramona in a way that she tried to hide. He watched her reach up the instructed cabinet, and smile oddly at the severed human foot. strange.

"Ok, how bad is your leg?" she asked, concern contorting her features. why did she care so much?

"Bearable." Sherlock said. never one to make a fuss. Ramona rolled her eyes.

"Okay tough guy, tell me when it starts to hurt. You could of pulled something, you never know."

"It feels much more severe than that, I assume you will take me to hospital if that's the case?" Ramona laughed, and Sherlock's brow furrowed

"I may be extremely dangerous and mysterious, but I was also training to become a physiotherapist, trust me, I haven't done that much damage." Sherlock mentally kicks himself for this. How could I not of seen that? This girl makes me doubt everything I know about myself. Ramona begins squeezing his leg, slowly getting higher. he sees Ramona redden as she reaches his knee. still no pain. Suddenly her hands hit the top of kneecap and he yelps in pain.

"Well. That could of gotten extremely awkward." The detective states, resulting in Ramona to laugh. He decides he likes the sound of her laugh and notes to try and hear it more often. Ramona runs to the kitchen to wet a paper towel for his nose. She hurries back and gives it to him to hold against it. She then materializes a cotton pad and anti-septic from the dark green first aid box and combines the two, then using this anti-septic ridden cotton pad to dab it onto the top of Sherlock's cheekbone, which he was just finding out had been cut by Ramona's ring. She looks up from her work to meet his cool grey eyes, and they are both suddenly very aware of the silence in the room, buzzing in their ears. She looks away after three point five seconds of eye contact, but could easily have been mistaken for century's.

Ramona

One knee support bandage later, she was done. Ramona huffed loudly as her back hit the couch, and turned on the television. She scruffily opens the white envelope, nerves shredding her.

"What's that?" The detective asks.

"Just my university details and stuff. Timetable n' that." She replies.

"Whats your IQ, Ramona?" Her brows furrow slightly at the question.

"185. Why?"

"Do you think you're smart?" She turns to face him.

"I think there are lots of different kinds of smart, and I'm not the important kind." Ramona notices that mans eyes widen at the statement.

"What do you mean?"

"I'm test smart, a photographic memory, but at the end of the day, I'm not the quick thinking smart, I smoke, and there's no logic to that. I get into danger, some would say attracted to it," her eyes seem far away "everything about me would point to being unintelligent." She didn't know why she was telling him this, things she hadn't even told herself.

"Your wrong. Apart from the attracted to danger thing. No wonder your attracted to me." Sherlock stated plainly, and for some reason Ramona's stomach dropped, her eyes widened, and she could feel her throat tighten and her mouth dry. This state continued until she heard his deep baritone chuckle, laughing at his own joke. A joke. It was obviously a joke. Why would you react that way? She fakely rolled her eyes and grinned.

"Well how could I not?" She asked sarcastically. "You're so dangerous, detective Holmes, you're cheekbones make me swoon!" Putting the back of her hand to her forehead mockingly. They both laugh wholeheartedly.

"So, where's john?" Sherlock is quick to reply.

"Meeting an old friend or something." The detective pauses "What happened to you? Why did you... react like that?" Ramona sighs and looks down, deciding that he wasn't going to stop until he knew.

"It's... a long story" She says, defeated.

* * *

**Thanks for reading :)**


	5. Electricity

**Electricity - Arctic Monkeys**

**I don't own Sherlock unfortunately, just my oc's**

* * *

"It happened so fast. I didn't really know what had happened until it was done." Ramona painfully stated. Memories came shooting towards her, all as unpleasant as the others. "Me and this boy, we were walking back from the cinema. Then he said that we should take a shortcut. It wasn't a particularly sketchy part of town or anything, but we went through this alleyway.." Her breath got faster and shorter, and Sherlock spotted all the signs of a ptsd sufferer. Ramona's hand flies towards her stomach subconsciously.

"And, there was this... Man there. He tried to mug us, but Tom, the boy I was with, he- he wasn't having any of it. Always too brave, stupidly so. The man, he shot him. He was just lying there, and there was so much blood. I wanted to stay with him, but I knew I was going to die if I did. So I ran. For ages as well. I was one of the best runners at school, but that? That was like nothing like running around a circuit, being timed. I was running for my life, and the man, he was just as fast. I was smart though. Not smart enough, of course." She was standing now, her big eyes far away as ever.

"H-he, he shot me." She looks down and notices her hand clutching at the wound, trying to stop invisible blood from leaking out. "It wasn't on purpose though. He got hold of me, and I really thought I was going to die. When I fought back, he accidentally pulled the trigger. He had fell awkwardly like when I hit you and sprained something. The gun was just there, Sherlock. And I picked it up." Shes shaking violently now, and she looks pale. Sherlock notes to be ready to catch her if she faints. "I picked the thing up, and looked at the man. He was looking up at me from the floor, pleading for me not to do it. He was so scared. Then I lifted it to point at him, and I pulled the trigger. I was so full of adrenaline, I killed him. Sherlock, I killed somebody." Her legs are weak now, and she stumbled to find a seat. "After that, I couldn't bare to be around Tom. He just reminded me so badly of what I'd done. He didn't deserve me leaving. He was going through it as well."

**Sherlock**

"So that's why you came to London." Sherlock says, shocked. "Ramona, I-" Sherlock looks at her slumped form on the couch.

She had passed out. _Great_. He walks over to the couch, no longer limping. The detective picks her up, surprisingly easily. He enters her unlocked flat, to find Hannah typing intensely typing at her expensive laptop. She looks up and her eyes widen in shock, her busy hands stopping suddenly.

"What happened to her?! Have you two been attacked? Oh my god, not another fig-" Sherlock butted in before she had more time to worry.

"Don't worry, She just attacked me and then fainted." Her brows furrow in further. "Well, it was of course... provoked. As innocently as possible." The detective is suddenly hyper aware of his arms holding suddenly such a fragile limp body, and he was terrified of dropping it. "I'm going to put her in her room. Which one?" Hannah points at a tall white door, and Sherlock starts towards it.

Inside the room there's a double bed with all white sheets, the whole room being extremely white washed, like the whole of the apartment. There's a bedside table next to it that's also white, a big metallic lamp resting on it, and 3 small different type of cacti, all in little brick red pots. Books litter the windowsills, differing from gargantuan novels to fashion magazines.

There's a white wooden dressing table with an antique mirror hanging behind it. There's also a big wooden wardrobe, a full length mirror hung on one of the two doors. On the walls there are framed posters, all different shows and bands Sherlock had no idea about. He lays Ramona's body onto the bed and proceeds to take her shoes off. She doesn't even stir, and this worries Sherlock for some reason.

He checks her pulse. Its there. She's not dead, idiot. He puts the trainers next to another pair in a long line of shoes. He sighs and sits on the end of her bed. She looks extremely uncomfortable. He decides to call Hannah to put her in her pyjamas, and left Ramona's room reluctantly.

**Ramona**

She wakes up in her bedroom groggily, and looks over at her alarm clock in confusion. 1:13 pm. How did this happen? She tries to jump out of bed, but quickly stumbles back to sit on the white sheets, dizzy from the sudden height. Shaking her head, she gets up more slowly. Ramona looks down and acknowledges what she's wearing. Pyjamas. _I was up 4 hours ago!_ She slowly recalls the days events so far._ Oh._ She quickly changes into her past outfit that had been neatly folded and went to wash her face.

"Hannah?" Her voice still grainy from being unconscious.

"Oh, Ramona! You're finally up!" Hannah jumps up and hugs the disorientated girl with wide blue eyes.

"Wheres my letter?" Ramona asks, remembering how it had supposed to have been be her days focus.

"Hm? Oh, yes your letter. It'll be with Sherlock, must've forgotten it when he carried you up here" Ramona felt her face burn. _Of course I had to faint. Textbook._

"I'll, um, go get it then, They'll probably end up getting it lost with a human limb or something. Be back in two minutes, Han." The frizzy haired girl nods and gets back to her laptop.

Ramona knocks on the door three times, and waits for three seconds before the door swings open, and she has to lean her head up to meet Sherlock's grey eyes.

"I left my letter here." She states flatly, not wanting the detective to see her obvious embarrassment at the events that had transpired in his flat.

"Ah, yes. I must have forgotten. Come in." Ramona walks past the tall man to find John sat in his chair reading the newspaper, which he looks up from to see Ramona.

"Oh, hi! I hear you're the reason for the current state of Sherlock's face!" He says, completely lightheartedly. Ramona chuckles.

"Well, I was extremely provoked to be fair, John."

"Aren't we all, Ramona?" They both laugh, causing a scowl to spread across Sherlock's features. His literally black eyes follow Ramona, like she wouldn't notice. Ramona grabs the white envelope that was lying on the wooden table. "So, when are you starting uni?" asks John, always wanting small talk.

"Next week." She replies with an excited smile. "Can't wait." John smiles, reminiscing.

"One of the best times of your life, Uni. You'll love it." Ramona smiles as well, and Sherlock's stomach tightens a fraction at this exchange.

"Chips?" Sherlock suddenly blurts out. Ramona raises an eyebrow and Sherlock feels himself flush. "I-I mean, Do you, would you and Hannah like to go to the chippy with me and John? Since you're new and everything, you probably don't know anywhere or-" Ramona butted in before Sherlock could start rambling.

"Yes thank you Sherlock, that's very nice of you. We'll meet you outside the building at six?" Sherlock nods quickly and Ramona waves goodbye to John with a smile. "Sorry again about messing up your face, Sherlock." She leaves.

"What the hell was that display?" John looks up from his paper and frowns in confusion at the ranting man before him. "Why are you flirting with our neighbor, John? She's going to start University! You're basically cradle snatching! Honestly John! Disgusting!" John speaks up, almost amused.

"If I remember correctly, it was you who asked them to come with us to the chippy, and why would you care if I was flirting? She's fully of age, but I wasn't, for the record." Sherlock sighs heavily and falls back into his chair.

"Any cases?" The smaller man looks up and shakes his head.

Six O'clock came quickly for Sherlock, and he couldn't help but ruffle his hair in the mirror in his bathroom a few times before exiting his flat. Standing outside in the lingering summer sun, he is a tall, mysterious man in a good long coat and scarf. The black door opens, and the two girls greet them. after pleasantries are exchanged, John rubs his hands together and suggests they set off.

In Sherlock's defence, he does know good fish and chips when we sees them. She notes how similar John and Hannah are. they way they speak, and their politeness, the way they approach life. They could talk for years on end and still be able to carry on a good conversation. This talent they share is vital, as me and Sherlock would probably end up attacking each other if we talked for too long. Ramona stabs another chip with her wooden fork. Sherlock's not eating a lot, and she doesn't strike her to be one to eat a lot. she wonders why he invited them out. Ramona looks up from her food to see Sherlock boring holes into her with his eyes again.

For Ramona, it was getting old fast. John and Hannah are still nattering away happily, a laugh shared approximately every 6.2 seconds. The busy restaurant has a crowded atmosphere, Ramona looks around and studies every person there. Two secondary school sweet hearts sit opposite each other, feeding each other chips and generally being cringey. Ramona rolls her eyes heavily, and focuses back on her food. Sherlock notices this and 's eyes dart up to meet his.

"Yes?" She say, raising an eyebrow.

"You're odd. Most girls would have seen that and sighed longingly. But you?" Sherlock leans in across the table to Ramona, narrowing his eyes. "You don't. It's... generally perceived as weird." Ramona bit back a smile and looked away.

"You're generally perceived as weird, Mr Holmes." The detective snorts. "So is that why you've been staring at me like I just kicked a puppy? Or have I done something to offend the worlds only consulting detective?" Ramona jokes, but there's a strong hint of seriousness behind her smile.

"I don't know how you're doing it, but I can't seem to figure you out. Something very different indeed. You're not so much mysterious as... unexpected." His grey eyes quickly dart away from hers and are suddenly fixated on the table. Ramona raises an eyebrow and swallows, quickly putting on a facade of lightheartedness. He glances back up at her, as she fiddles with her hands.

"Unexpected." She mutters. "Hopefully, that's a positive synonym in your book."

He suddenly looks up at her, his face all too close. His features are completely unfeeling but beautiful, the light playing on his cheekbones, the shadows resting under them. His expression is completely intense, and Ramona feels her heart move to the front of her throat and her eyes widen and the proximity of him. He's studying her face very seriously, like an experiment, and Ramona felt like one, small under the undeniable presence of this strange man.

She presses all of her back to the back of her seat and looks away, like the shock of lightning had moved her. She hadn't enjoyed that situation, or his almost predatory gaze, or how she felt like a scuttling mouse under this lion of a detective.

Sherlock leans back and put both of elbows onto the table, his fingers intertwined in thought.

"You don't like being close to people. Emotionally or physically. Usually caused by early trauma." Ramona snorts and then looks him dead in the eye.

"You're one to talk. I'm sure you have the exact same problem, if not worse. Or better, depending on how you look at it." Sherlock's eyebrows crease, her eyes widen at his response. "You've never..." Ramona bit her lip slightly, deciding to tread lightly. "You act extremely lethargic to any contact to people in general, you wear leather gloves whenever you leave the house. However, it's not like you've never had any volunteers. I bet you've had women throwing themselves at you, however, with that face. Of course only to be either used, or eye-watering embarrassingly rejected. Why?" Ramona's brow furrowed. "Either asexual or celibate, unlikely but very possible in your case. Your body language would indicate no sexual appetite in the slightest." Sherlock replies shortly.

"Never liked any of them. All too cliche and boring. Typical." Ramona thinks about this for a second.

"I don't know if that's outrageous or endearing. I'll go with in between for both of our sakes."

They leave and walk back in the now cold brisk atmosphere of a much darker, more appealing London, the air pinching at Ramona's face. She had always enjoyed being outside at night, the air was so much more clear, and the clarity of everything at night struck her as being one of her favourite things. They arrive at 221B Baker Street happy, and they all go their separate ways, Sherlock now making a routine of watching Ramona smoke her cigarettes at around 8 pm, and Ramona making a routine of watching him be oblivious to her knowing of grey eyes on her cigarette smoke. As she was drifting off that night, Her last thought was with the tall detective probably struggling to fall asleep too, and she didn't know why.

* * *

**Hope you guys enjoyed!**

**I've got plans for this story, so I'm not rambling or anything, which is a first**

**please review and I'll love ya forever, thank you to those who have, it encourages me to write more!**


	6. Teddy Picker

**Teddy Picker - Arctic Monkeys**

* * *

The black alarm clock sprung to life on Ramona's bedside table, begging for her to get up. She woke up fuzzily and moaning, until realising the date. Her first day of university. Running to the bathroom she had a shower and then got dressed into a pair of Chelsea boots, black leggings, a black crop top and a red plaid flannel shirt worn like a jacket. She grabs her leather tote and gently puts her Macbook inside, taking great care with the leaving present from her parents. after taking one look outside of the big living room, she decided on a parka as well, heading out of the black door and pulling up her hood in the morning rain. The university was within walking distance, which was one of the many perks of living in 221B. Her neighbors cross her mind as being one of them.

Her stomach does somersaults outside of the big door of the old building. Taking a deep breath, she takes her first footsteps inside. Sitting in one of the chairs in the lecture room, two girls sit either side of her, Both as pretty as the other.

"Hi! I'm Ellie!" The freckled redhead on her left says. "And this one's Amber!" Ellie gestures to the brunette on her right, who grins happily.

Ramona smiles genuinely "I'm Ramona. Are you living on campus?"

She asks, as they nod. Amber replies. "Yeah, we're roommates. We've been looking forward to this loads."

They chat pleasantly about their home lives and how London measured up. Ramona was glad that the two girls had decided to befriend her, she didn't really feel like being a loner. The lecture room fills up with young people, and a very good looking boy sits in front of them lower down with his friends. He turns around and smiles at her, his traditionally handsome features complete with deep brown eyes causing Ramona's brain to become fuzzy as she smiles back.

Amber chuckles. "The classes mandatory hot boy. You might have a chance, Ray." She murmurs. Ramona laughs nervously, noting the very early use of a nickname.

"Are you guys doing forensic science as well?" The two girls nod. "That's a relief! Didn't want to have to walk to that hospital on my own, what a trek!"

They all smile and Ramona's hopes are lifted, which admittedly did this little. The three girls pull their laptops out of their bag for their business lecture, which Ramona wasn't too fussed about, but decided to try for her parents sake.

They reach the hospital, Ramona more confident and excited than nervous. The trio walk through the hospital to the morgue.

A small woman is there, looking at a man with curly hair longingly, who was obviously consumed by his work looking down a microscope. It was obvious she liked him a lot, but she's mousy and shy, although very pretty. They walk further in, and Ramona's eyes widen. It was Sherlock. A laugh escaped her, almost pitying the woman. How silly do you have to be to fall in love with Sherlock Holmes? He instantly looks up, his eyes locking with hers, and Ramona felt herself flush with the attention.

"Hello." he said in his baritone voice, which had an undertone of confusion to it. The woman spoke up in concern.

"How do you know her?" Sherlock doesn't look away from Ramona, and murmurs to the woman.

"Neighbor." To the small woman, that Ramona was starting to pity a lot. Ramona smiles at her, only to have her smile fakely and quickly at her, the corners of her mouth turning up, but her eyes not changing.

"She's here for a class." He says, turning back to his work.

The two girls behind Ramona share a look. "Yeah, er, sorry, must be the wrong room."

The small woman lightly scowls at the girl, causing Sherlock to smile, still looking into his microscope. The girl leave, Ramona more awkwardly than the others.

They find the right room and sit in blue seats.

"That was weird." States Amber.

"He was alright though, wasn't he." Ellie says, smiling.

"He's my neighbor, a detective, and he apparently goes to the morgue for shits and giggles." Ramona remarks, looking at her black nails.

"Yeah, but he's hot." Says Amber, giggling with Ellie.

Ramona rolls her eyes at the two girls antics, and sit through the lecture, Concentrating much harder than in her last one. It was mainly talk of how gruesome the people they were going to look at were, and how it wasn't for the faint hearted. Some of the people in the class looked uneasy in a place where there were more corpses than the alive, and she found it strange that they felt that way.

They walked out of the hospital onto a bustling London street, suddenly nothing but spare time ahead of them.

"There's a freshers night at this club tonight, you feel like coming? They've got really cheap booze." Ellie laughs. Ramona considers this for a while, and remembers Hannah.

"Sounds like something my flatmate would like, I'll ask if she wants to come, I'll give you my number and text you if I can." The two girls put Ramona in their contacts and they head separate ways.

Ramona races up the first flight of stairs of 221B, her mind elsewhere. She opens the door to her flat, to see that Hannah isn't home yet.

She shrugs and puts her bag in her room, a lot slower. Suddenly she hears the sounds of a violin drifting through the floorboards from downstairs. She froze for a second, the beauty of the piece leaving her momentarily stunned. She then spies her electric guitar and smirks. plugging it into the amp, she begins to gently play the chords of a slow, but loud rock song. The walls are surprisingly thin, and she hears a loud audible scowl from downstairs. She smirked and played louder. suddenly there was a loud and fast knocking on the door.

"Come in!" She shouted over her playing. Sherlock stormed in, his jaw locked, at which her smirk grew.

"Yes?" Sherlock than shouted some words that she couldn't hear over the guitar. "I can't hear you! Can you speak up?"

At this Sherlock got angrier, paced over to her and clamped his hands around her wrists so she couldn't play. Her breath became faster and she leaned back, hating that she could feel his breath on her. She realised that this was his way of intimidating her. And it worked.

"Will you stop now?" He speaks in a husky voice, and it sends a chill through her. Ramona quickly pulls her wrists out of his grip, coming back to her senses.

"Were you trying to take my pulse again?" Sherlock shrugs and doesn't step back. "Also, you don't like physical contact, so what's so special about me?"

Sherlock steps back, anger contorting his features, but she didn't know why he was angry. "Special? You? You're just some hopeful university girl, who thinks that she's smart and so damaged that she has to have these massive issues just because she got mugged and shot someone. Great, so you shot someone. If it made you move to London, you must be extremely sensitive and faint hearted. A silly little girl who had a slight bump in the road. You're not special, Ramona. In fact, you were never special at all, you were in fact so average that it made you look special because of how boring you are! So predictable, dull, stupid, you think you're special to me? You're not anything Ramona. Nothing to me."

Ramona's eyes were stinging at the insults, and she had to blink a few times to comprehend what he had just said. Suddenly a fire grew in the pit of her stomach, curling up the side of her stomach and up her throat, where it exited out of her mouth.

"For someone who has an IQ of 190, you're really fucking stupid. Do you think I care what some socially retarded consulting detective thinks about me? Some pretentious prick who wears a long coat to try and look mysterious? Also, if I'm so predictable, you should of seen this coming." She says with a smile, as her fist collided with cheekbone. Admittedly, she resorted to violence too much, but she had never been a slapping type of person, she had always thought of that as being too soap opera, and also much less painful.

"Oh my god, did you really just punch me again?" Sherlock cries.

"No offence Sherlock, but the way you act, You're going to have to get used to that. You're a complete dickhead." She shrugs.

"You have major anger issues, Ramona." Sherlock shakes his head and looks in the mirror.

"Me?! I have the anger issues here?! I'm not the one who went berserk because someone asked why you were touching them." Ramona massaged her temples.

"Maybe we're both as bad as each other." They both nod at this.

"We should go to anger management together." Ramona murmurs, causing Sherlock to laugh. "Did you mean what you said? I don't really care that much, I'd just like to know if it was something said in the heat of the moment."

She instantly regrets saying this, and braces herself for the current of Sherlock's harsh words to drag her under.

"You infuriate me, and I'm not sure why." Ramona sighs at this.

"I don't know if that was an apology, or even... I don't even know what that was, but I'll accept it. So anyway, why are you messing around with that poor girl's feelings to get into a morgue?"

Sherlock smirks at this. "I can't help it if my good looks get me places."

Ramona feels annoyance at this. "You can't just use someone like that. She is quite obviously in love with you, Sherlock."

His eyes snap up to meet hers, eyes wide. "Wait... Do you like her back? That is a very strange way of showing affection."

Sherlock shakes his head furiously, and sits on her couch, elbows on his thighs, fists on his jaw.

"I don't... I am not in love with Molly." He frowned. "I need to go." At this, he paces out of the flat and walks out of the building, walking off in a random direction, leaving Ramona as confused as ever.

Hannah arrives at 221B, her bag stuffed with coursework. Ramona's waiting in the flat, smoking a cigarette out of one of the large living room windows. Hearing her footsteps, she stubs it out, closes the window, and throws the cigarette into the bin in 2.3 seconds, a moment before the door opens.

"Hi Han! How was you day? Mine was good-" Hannah moves quickly to hug her flatmate, squeezing the living daylights out of her.

"I have so much work Ray! It's only the first day for gods sake!" She cries with a certain frown on her face.

"Well I have something to cure you! A good party!" Hannah's eyes light up, but then die down again.

I'm really sorry, I can't. I have all this work." She gestures to her bag.

"Oh, um, okay. Your don't mind if I go still?" Hannah shakes her head furiously.

"Go! Have fun! I'll be here being a granny! Don't worry." Ramona admittedly felt very guilty about this, but it wasn't her decision. She decided to text Ellie.

**Can definitely come tonight, what kind of dress, what time and place?**

she replied almost instantly.

**dress up! we'll meet you outside your house at 9, I'd love to get another look at that detective of yours ;)**

Ramona smiled and rolled her eyes at this.

**Okay, and don't even bother, he's a complete nutter.**

The blonde haired girl decided on a simple black body-con dress, black heeled boots, and her leather jacket. Taking one last look in the mirror, She left 221B, locking the big black door behind her, to find the two girls just about to knock. They all laughed and quickly set off. When they arrived at the nightclub, the loud music hitting Ramona like a tonne of bricks and the lights dazzling her.

The girls went straight to the bar and ordered something strong, laughing when Amber showed how much of a lightweight she was.

"Look! Its that boy from business! Phwooar, he's well fit." Ramona laughs, but then nods along with Ellie. Amber and Ellie soon want to dance, but Ramona never was one for that sort of thing, so she stood leaning against one of the walls. The boy that Ellie had been speaking about notices her and walks up to her, smiling.

"Hey, I'm Tobias." He says with a cool smile, Ramona's stomach doing somersaults.

"I'm Ramona. I see you'd like to join the we're-too-cool-to-dance club?" She jokes, causing him to laugh.

"Yes, but I see that membership is very exclusive." He says, grinning. Ramona decides that she likes this boy.

"You're in my business class, right?" Ramona nods. "You look different in this light." He states, studying her. He had black messy hair and deep brown eyes, and admittedly a very cute face.

"I'm also glad there's someone who doesn't like dancing as much as me." He says, leaning onto the wall beside her, watching the people dance.

"I only know like two people here, so I'm not sure, but it seems like I'm your only choice." Ramona replies, smiling.

"I'm not too miffed about that." They both smile at this, and Ramona notices a slight cockney twang in his voice.

"So, what's a northern girl like you doing down here?" She's slightly surprised by this, as she has little to no accent at all.

"Lots of things really," She lies. "just in need of a little change of scenery." She shrugs, as he pulls out a black sharpie from his pocket.

"I'll give you my number, I have to go now, we should meet sometime." He smiles, as Ramona gives him her hand for him to write down the word Tobias, his number, and a single x.

"Bye" She says with with a smile. "see you later, oh, and call me Toby." He replies, exiting the dark club.

"Oh my god! You just pulled!" Squealed Amber, a ,little bit tipsy. Ramona laughs and nods. "You're not drunk enough, lets do shots!" Ellie was always excited, and it made everyone around her excited too.

Ramona could handle alcohol well, and soon she felt a bit drowsy but very happy. After taking a few more, they decide to leave. They stagger along the pavement, holding onto each other and giggling. They reach 221B and Ramona stumbles inside. She can hear pacing footsteps above her. It was one am. She drunkenly walks up the stairs, her feet thumping loudly on the steps, her hands fumbling clumsily on the banister. Suddenly the door a few steps away swings open, nearly hitting Ramona, to reveal a quizzical Sherlock.

"Yo, it's me Shezza, just got a little turnt at the club." Ramona giggles and hiccups, looking at Sherlock with glazed over eyes.

"You're obviously intoxicated. You've disturbed me twice in the night and its getting very annoy-" His voice is stern but his face is smiling.

"Hmmm, you were already up," She takes a few wobbly steps towards the detective and pokes him in the chest. "But sorry, I didn't mean to interrupt your love nest." She playfully winks.

"I am not gay, Ramona." He replies, a slight annoyance in his voice.

"How would you know?" She asked, slurring her works and making Sherlock's eyes narrow. "I like your dressing gown. Very swaggy." Sherlock rolls his eyes and decides she is very drunk.

"C'mon cheekbones, you know you love it really. I have to go home now, and its an extremely long walk to that place from here. Your eyes are really weird." She leans it to get a proper look, her brow furrowed with concentration. She suddenly starts giggling. "Your hairs really curly." She starts smiling like an idiot.

"Yes well done, you have identified my face. Would you like a certificate? A medal perhaps?" He raises an eyebrow and looks down at the woman.

"Yes please! I have to go now though, Hannah's hopefully kept the door unlocked, I forgot my key, and she's a massively deep sleeper. Goodnight, detective." Another squeaky hiccup escaped her. Sherlock laughed and went back into his apartment. Ramona walks up the next flight of stairs much more efficiently, and tries the door. Locked. _awks._ She knocks, which has no response. She can hear faint snoring, which makes her giggle. She then calls her a few times, which has no response either._ Great. I'm going to have to sleep on their couch. I'm going to have to sleep on Sherlock's couch._

She knocks on their door clumsily, and the door opens quickly again, and her eyes meet with an extremely done Sherlock.

"Hi. Um, I can't get into my flat." She says with embarrassment.

"Great. Your point?"

"Um, well did I mention how nice your dressing gown is?" He nods "Wellllll, could I sleep on your couch?"

"You punched me today."

"That was actually technically yesterday." He gives her a look. "Okay, I'm sorry. But you were being a prat." He sighs.

"Fine." He opens the door more to let her in, and she walks in, trying to control where her feet go.

"John's asleep, so please try to be quiet." She nods mockingly seriously.

"Yes sir." She looks around. "Why are you up at this time anyway?"He sits in a black leather chair.

"I don't need it."

"How are you not completely mad all the time? Wait, don't answer that. That's probably an answer to my most prominent question to you." She says, still slurring her words. His mouth twitched in a hint of a smile.

"Use some of my pyjamas if you want." He said quietly.

"I never took you for a pyjama sort of guy. You're definitely a boxer guy but, pyjamas? Interessante, Monsieur Holmes. That'd be nice thanks. Where are they?"

"2nd draw on the right of my drawer."

she slips off her shoes, lowering herself four and a half inches, and walks to his room. Its dark, a poster of the periodic table on one of the walls. She smiles at this._ Nerd_. she quickly changes in the bathroom, tip toeing as to not wake John. She changes into a big plain t-shirt that reached to the middle of her thigh and long black cotton trousers that were obviously too big for her, engulfing all of her feet. Ramona walked back to the living room, putting her dress besides her, folded on the floor. She lies there silent for a second, and then looks up at Sherlock typing away at his computer.

"Thanks for this. Really didn't fancy being homeless tonight." She smiles genuinely, surprisingly comfy.

"It doesn't matter. I-" He looks at her and pauses. Admittedly for Sherlock, he didn't mind the sight of her in his clothes, which was perverted for him. "Its just my couch." There's a minute of silence, only the tapping of his fingers on a laptop keyboard filling it.

"Sherlock?"

"Yes?"

"Am I the first girl that's been in your bedroom?"

"I thought you didn't fancy being homeless tonight." She giggles loosely.

"I didn't hear a no."

"Why, do you like that fact?" She suddenly flushed and pulled the blanket that had been over the couch up to just beneath her big eyes.

"So it's a fact then." She mumbles under the blanket.

"I'll throw you out, and I won't regret it." He looks over at her, and his eyes find her pale arm. on her hand there's something scrawled across it, that's upside down to him. He squints his eyes as he tries to read it. "Who's Tobias?" He asks.

"Hm? Oh, a boy I met today. I got his number. Pretty cute actually." He feels a strange curiousity at this.

"Are you going to call him tomorrow?" She raises an eyebrow at his genuine interest.

"I prefer to text, actually." There's a pause."

What a ridiculous name." He sniffs indifferently.

"Because there's absolutely no hypocrisy in that statement, Sherlock." She says.

"I thought you were drunk."

"I am, but I can still use big words, even if I slur them." His mouth twitches again at this, and he looks away from his laptop screen to her.

"Get to sleep, you're going to be monumentally hungover in the morning."

"Two things wrong with that statement. Number one," She holds up her thumb above her. "I don't get hungover, and I dont know why, probably a fast metabolism. Number two," She holds up another finger above her. "It's already morning. You're getting slow."

He rolls his eyes. "Do you always have to answer back?"

"It's just one of my many qualities. Or faults, deciding on how you look at it. Anyway, I'm actually going to sleep now. Night Sherlock."

"Goodnight." He replied, and watched as the movement of her chest slowed down to a slow, regular movement.

* * *

**I do love a good drunk chapter :)**

**Thank you so much for reading and reviewing, it makes my day!**


	7. Catapult

**Catapult**

I own nothing but the oc's

* * *

Ramona wakes up slowly, starting to panic when she doesn't see her bedroom. She jumps off the couch, only to get dizzy and slowly sit down again. She gathers her wits and takes in her surroundings. An unfamiliar bedroom. There's a poster of the periodic table on one of the walls. No one she would be in the bedroom of then. _Please don't tell me I had a one night stand. Oh my god, I don't remember anything! This is really bad._ There's a clock on the wall. 8:30 am. She sighs and gets up slower. There's a full length mirror opposite her leaning against the wall._ I definitely doesn't own these clothes. A mans, around six foot. not fat or skinny either. At least if I have had sex, it wasn't a disgusting man. It smells nice as well, very, well kept? Kind of like, old books, or the smell when you get a new book and you flick the pages in front of you just to smell it. But if I did do anything, Why am I in his clothes? Is he just a massive gentleman? _Ramona smiled and decided that if she had had a one night stand, the man wouldn't make her regret it. She shakes her head, trying to remove the heavy fog from yesterday night. Something catches her eye on her hand. Toby. _I'll give you my number, I have to go now. We should meet up sometime. _A pair of smiling brown eyes. Had she slept with this man? Ramona opens the white door, and walks heavily into a hallway. With a confused expression, she walks further, and her stomach, (Now an experienced gymnast) does several anxious flips. Sherlock's flat.

Sherlock looks up at her over his paper, only to look back down. "Sleep well?" He asks, in his baritone voice, confusing her even more.

Her eyes widen. "Was- Why- What was I doing in your bedroom?!" She cries.

"Sleeping."

"And these are your clothes, I'm assuming?"

He smirks. "I believe so."

She sighs. "Sherlock this isn't the time for speaking in bloody riddles, what am I doing here? Did I- Did we... Sleep together?"

He laughs at the girl, making eye contact. Her stomach tightened. "No, nothing like that. You came home very drunk, got locked out, so you slept on the cou- my bed."

She raises an eyebrow at his mistake. "Oh... Thank you. Um, Wheres John?" At this, he walks in, carrying several shopping bags. His eyes instantly widen at the sight of Ramona.

"Er, Hi, Ramona."

Sherlock and Ramona both laugh at his expression, John raises an eyebrow at this.

"Did you two- What's going on here?" Ramona giggles.

"Don't worry, nothing like that happened. I got locked out last night, and Hannah wouldn't wake up, so Sherlock here was just being a good neighbor."

"Oh, ok. That would have been, very..." Sherlock shoots him a look and raises his eyebrow. "It would have been very surprising." He says quickly.

She laughs, as she spots her folded dress and shoes next to the couch. _If I slept in the bedroom, why are my clothes here? _Sherlock follows her gaze and his eyes widen. John looks at the pair staring at what he can see is the carpet, and decides they're both as mad as as the other, which was a first for when it came to Sherlock.

"So, do you want breakfast Ramona?" She snaps out of her track of thought.

"I don't want to intrude any more than I already have, John, it's fine."

"Gwon, you must need it after what looks like a full night out." She blushes at this.

"Alright then, if you insist." she smiles. Glancing in a mirror, she notices that she doesn't actually look that bad, no panda eyes, her hair wasn't that messy, but she did look quite out of it. Ramona sits down on the couch and looks around, her attention turning to last nights clothes. Sherlock must of seen her confused expression, as her enlightened her. "I took them out of my bedroom when I got dressed this morning, You would probably have forgotten them." It makes her go red to know that she was probably snoring in the same room that Sherlock was at one point naked in, she was never one to be elegant, especially when unconscious. There's a strange expression on his face when he says this, one that she's never seen before. She furrows her brows and studies him for a second.

"You're lying." She states.

His eyes widen for a second, before turning to face her. "What?"

"You're lying." She repeated. "I can tell. What really happened to my clothes? Unless they teleported, that is."

He looks flustered at this. "I- I'm not lying!" John cant hear them over the sizzle of the frying pan.

"Don't treat me like an idiot, Sherlock."

He tenses his jaw. "That's the truth."

She suddenly gets up to see what's making her so uncomfortable. Its a blanket, strewn across the couch in an odd manner. She picks it up, straightens it out, hangs it on the back of the sofa, and sits back down. She slowly starts to smile at Sherlock. "Sherlock, was the bed where I started sleeping?"

He visibly swallowed. How he ever got away with lying, she had no idea. She could see right through him. "Yes. What an odd question."

She laughs. "Another lie?"

He rubs his temples. "Fine. You were being annoying in the living room, so I took you to my bedroom. Is it such a crime?"

She smiles. "If it wasn't such a crime to you, why would you lie about it?"

"I just thought-"

"Did you carry me bridal style?" She asks, amused now. He narrows his eyes at her, making her giggle.

"Thank you, that was very sweet."

He picks his paper back up and pretends to read, this makes her roll her eyes. John set her breakfast down in front of her. "I added a bit extra for being the first person to ever get the last word with Sherlock." He says smiling, causing her to laugh. "Thank you, John." She smiles back and He sits down in his chair. Sherlock watched the exchange with a clenched jaw.

After eating her breakfast, She washed up the dishes for the boys, much to Johns protest. She grabbed her clothes, and walked back to her flat, telling Sherlock she'd wash his shirt and bottoms that she was in. She opens the now unlocked door, receiving a funny look from Hannah, whom she was glaring at. "Hannah." She said passively.

"Yes?" She asks timidly.

"What did I ask you before I went out?"

"To- To not lock the door?"

Ramona nods. "And what did you do?"

"Lock the door."

"Why!?"

"I'm so sorry! I wasn't thinking!"

Ramona sighs at her friend. She could never stay angry at her. "Guess where I slept last night?" She said with a smile.

"Where?"

"Sherlock's bed." Hannah gasps and starts laughing.

"Oh my god! Were you really drunk as well?"

"Yup. So embarrassing. Oh, I also pulled. He's fit as well." Hannah smiles at this. "Is it alright if I invite him over?"

"Yeah! Could use a hot boy around the place." They both laugh.

**Hey it's Ramona from last night, you remember?**

He replied after around two minutes.

**How could I forget? Wanna meet?**

She smiles at her screen.

**My place? **

she waits impatiently.

**Okay, whats your address?**

she has to think for a second.

**221b baker street, at 11?**

its two minutes before he replies.

**Wont be late :) **

She smiles, and decides to take a shower. After this, she painstakingly decides what to wear, before settling on light blue jeans, a simple white slogan top thing that she had acquired ages ago from some festival, a black Harrington jacket, and white air force one's. She takes a longer than required time to do her hair and make up, and goes and sits patiently in the living room. Hannah leaves shortly after, going shopping or something. The clock now reads 10:59, and Ramona feels anxiety creep up her spine and engulf all her nerves. Suddenly she hears a knock from the door of the building, composes herself, and jogs down to answer it.

"Hey!" He says, and she instantly feels herself relaxing.

"Hi, you'll have to excuse the flat, we've only recently moved in."

"You should see mine! You can definitely tell boys live there." They both laugh as Ramona opens the door to 221C.

"Woah, this is well nice." He compliments.

"Thanks, we got a discount on the rent, if you were wondering how I could live here." He smiles.

He looks around, and notices the guitars. "You play guitar?" She nods. "Ah man, I've always wanted to learn, but to be fair, I was just going to use it to pull birds." They both laugh.

"Well, it doesn't look like you needed it that much." He chuckles. "I can teach you if you want." She smiles as his eyes widen.

"That'd be cool."

She hands him an acoustic guitar as he goes to sit down, taking one herself.

"What d'you wanna learn?"

"Know any Kasabian?"

She beams at him. "A little, yeah." She grins. "Ok so, copy my hands. No, like- I'll show you." She moves his hands to the right strings, as he begins to play the sequence of chords. getting the hang of it, she joins in. "You're a natural Toby!"

He smiles at this. "I have a good teacher. So, what's it like living here? How are the neighbors?"

She laughs at this, making him confused. "The flats really good, but my neighbors? Ones really nice, but his flatmate is a bit... Eccentric. He's alright, though." She shrugs, and hates that the thought of Sherlock now fills her mind, like what his response would be, how he would look when he laugh, his eyes looking straight into hers...

"Hey, can I play it on the electric?" She snaps out of her trance and smiles.

"Yeah, of course." She laughs when he messes up completely, and moves his hands to the right places.

"I feel well like Alex turner now." He laughs. "A proper rock star." He grins, continuing to play. She teaches him another harder song, and she moves his fingers, and suddenly he grabs her hand, and she looks up at him. He smiles at her wide eyes, like a rabbit in the headlights. They share a moment, and then the door swings open.

Sherlock stands in the doorway in his usual suit, to see the pair standing very close together, their hands in a sort of high five, but with their fingers intertwined. There's a spinning, curling feeling in the pit of his stomach, and he wants to tear them apart, for some reason.

"Oh. I was going to ask for my clothes back, but I wouldn't want to intrude." He says, his voice short.

"Why do you have his clothes?" Toby asks, confused.

"She slept in my bed last night." He replies, smirking.

"What?" Toby's looking at Ramona now.

"It's not like that. He's just being indifferent. I got locked out last night so i had to sleep somewhere." She replies, staring daggers at Sherlock, and the detective was surprisingly pierced by them.

"Oh, this is the eccentric one." Toby smiles, and looks down at their hands, still together. She drops hers. Sherlock raises an eyebrow.

"So you're Toby I assume." He tried to deduce something awful about the boy, but there was nothing. Of course there wasn't or Ramona wouldn't be with him. He clenched his jaw.

"Yeah, and you're..." Toby outstretches his hand.

"Sherlock." The taller man takes his hand and makes the boy wince under the detectives surprising strength.

Ramona Rolled her eyes at the testosterone levels in the room. "Well, I've got your clothes on my radiator, I was going to Iron them for you."

"You left your oven on, Tobias." Sherlock spat the last word out like a curse.

"What? How did you?" Toby seems very confused now, and Ramona doesn't blame him.

"I'm a detective. Now hurry. Your flatmates not going to be home till seven."

His eyes widen at the taller man. "I- I'm sorry Ramona, I'll have to go. We'll meet another time though?" She nods as he takes off, out of her flat.

Ramona sighs. "Did you really come here for your clothes? Or just to mess up whatever I had going on?"

Sherlock shrugs. "A little bit of both. I was bored."

"Are you a sociopath?" Ramona blurts out.

"Yes, well done. A high functioning one as well."

"You really didn't like him, did you?" Ramona bites her lip whilst Sherlock stares.

"I- he isn't suitable for you. You need someone smarter, not someone who leaves their oven on." Ramona looks at him incredulously.

"What?! You're my neighbor! Not my dad!" He just stares. "Who would you suggest then?" Sherlock swallows.

"No one. Until you meet someone on your level-"

"Is that what you're waiting for?! Someone to come and 'be on your level'? Sherlock that's absolutely ridiculous. Maybe I don't need someone who can discuss quantum physics with me. For a sociopath you're extremely bad with people."

Sherlock is silent for a second "I don't want or need anyone. My work consumes me. I have no friends." He folds his arms stubbornly.

"Is that what you tell yourself? What is John to you? An assistant? You'd be absolutely devastated if you lost him, and don't you dare tell me different. Don't you dare, Sherlock. I can see right through you, read you like a book. Everyone thinks you're this loner with no love and only logic in him, but I know different. John knows different. Just about everyone who's taken the time to know you knows you're lying to yourself, trying to distance himself from humanity, trying not to get hurt, to not get close. I've done that. I may still be doing it now. But you're going to be caught up in the car crash that is life whatever you do, so you might as well be going a thousand miles an hour."

Ramona is silent after this outburst, and she spoke softer, walking towards him and looking him in the eyes, for the first time unflinching. Sherlock's holding his breath, as if to not catch the virus that is her words, her humanity, her truth. He exhales slowly and for the first time, he looks vulnerable, and undeniably sad. She tries desperately to predict what he will say, and she doesn't know where to start in his eyes. That's the thing about geniuses, in their eyes they have a million seperate emotions, and they eventually all blur into nothing, like when you mix too much paint together, and eventually it all just turns to a horrible brown colour.

"How do you do it?" Sherlock's eyes burn like dry ice, and she worries for him.

"What?"

"That. Feel so much and be able to put it into words. It is a ridiculous talent I have never been able to possess. I- You, you do something so strange to everything, you put words in my mouth that would never have been there in the first place and you steal the ones that were destined to be there. I never hesitate to speak, never. But with you?"

He looks at her like shes some kind of magic, a hallucination, something out of a dream. Or maybe a nightmare. Either way, Ramona feels like shes being undressed. Not like how drunk men greedily look her up and down and smirked disgustingly, the type that made her skin crawl. This was like he was undressing her physiologically, like all her feeling were laid out on the kitchen, and he was looking at then through his microscope, smiling to himself smugly.

"Sherlock..." She starts, and doesn't know where to finish. There are a thousand words she could have used, and instead she said none. Maybe that spoke louder than using them. His eyes are widening, like the angels themselves have come down from heaven and given him the meaning of life. Ramona decides that wouldn't have surprised her. He pins her against the wall behind her, and she feels her pulse begin to race. His eyes freeze into a state of shock, not moving from hers, and then he's leaning in, and Ramona is hoping she'll get out alive. She feels his breath on her lips, and the same smell of new books, and begins to feel dizzy. She doesn't know why he's doing it, but she hopes to god its not just an experiment, just another game. He's so close now, and she becomes hyper aware of his hands, still pinning her again the wall by the crooks of her elbows. She inhales quickly, feeling vulnerable, and at this, the door opens to reveal a shocked Hannah.

Sherlock flies off her, and shes all too aware of the lack of physical contact. His eyes are wide and he looks confused, he looks at her plainly, and totally platonic. Ramona's mind is completely frazzled by this detective, like a candle all burnt out. She has no idea what just happened.

"Wha- What were you guys doing?" Hannah speaks up, she looks between the two suspiciously.

"We were fighting again." Ramona says, knowing it was completely unconvincing. The detective is still silent.

"That didn't look like fighting."

"Well it was. Nothing more, nothing less. Me and Sherlock are completely platonic. If we were even that good friends."

Sherlock breaks the silence, and the apparent tension. "Well, I must be going." He's still looking at Ramona, like she was the only person in the room. He paces out of the flat, and into his, and they hear Johns voice from downstairs, and then Sherlock's in a completely casual and dismissive tone.

Hannah looks back at Ramona. "What the bloody hell was that about? I thought you were having a boy over?"

"I- I was. And then he just, made him leave, and then, fighting." Ramona's mind was spinning, desperately trying to get hold of a theory that would have made sense of what just happened. She could barely get her words out properly, her consonants coming out in the wrong order. Why did a detective in a long coat do this to her?

"Are you high, Ramona? Did you get high with our neighbor? Your pupils are completely dilated, and..." Hannah's eyes widen at the dazed girl, while Ramona desperately tries to stop the thought she was having.

"You like him?!" She squeals.

"I do not like man who has no social skills, is a sociopath, has one friend, keeps human limbs in various parts of his house!"

"Ramona's got a cruuuusshhh!" Hannah teases.

"For the last time, Hannah, I do not have a completely illogical fascination with our neighbor, whom I'm pretty sure is actually insane, so just stop it!" Ramonas getting angry now.

Hannah smiles slyly. "Okay, sure. whatever you say." Ramona rolls her eyes and then smiles at her friends childishness.

**Sherlock**

"Whats wrong Sherlock? You aren't acting yourself." Mrs Hudson, always concerned. However, she wasn't wrong to be. He had been reading the same page in the paper for an hour and twenty one minutes, if Sherlock counted correctly.

"Nothing, Mrs Hudson. I'm fine. Just bored." He lied. "Everything's a bit dull right now." Another bigger lie. If anything, these new feelings were the most fun he'd had since he can remember, and he'd never felt them before. His mind was constantly preoccupied with thoughts that felt like static on television.

"Can we go somewhere, John?" Sherlock thinks this must be the most vague thing he's ever said.

"No, sorry. I have a date tonight with Sarah. Big restaurant thing."

"Relationships. Stupid. Complete waste of time."

John almost looks hurt. "Okay, whats wrong?"

Sherlock shoots him an incredulous look. "I've told you multiple times today, nothing is wrong."

John sighs. "For a genius, you don't half act like a two year old." It sounds like something Ramona would say. Or anyone who knew him.

Sherlock rolls his eyes. "Are you gone yet?"

"Yes." John walks out.

Why was Ramona crossing his mind at least every three seconds? Was she just so annoying to the detective that he had to think about her all the time? Sherlock had recorded how many seconds he could go without his neighbor filling his head, and his personal best was 7.23 seconds. There was something wrong with him, he knew that for certain.

* * *

**Things are getting interesting :)**

**Thanks for reading, I'm actually enjoying writing this!**

**review to receive 100 puppies of your choice ;)**


	8. Brick By Brick

**Brick By Brick **

I own nothing except the oc

* * *

Ramona wakes up to a text tone.

**Hey, that was a bit embarrassing yesterday, but I'd like it if we could get coffee or something?**

She wasn't that keen as before, but decided she may as well.

**Yeah okay. Where do you wanna meet?**

**Well you probably don't know a lot of places, so I'll meet you outside your house at 11?**

For some reason, Ramona didn't like the thought of Sherlock seeing her with Toby again, but she quickly dismissed the dread in her gut.

**Alright, see you soon. **

It was 9 am on a brisk winters morning, and she had spent most of the night staring up at her ceiling, mulling over the days events. Getting a shower and breakfast, then dressed into black skinny jeans, a white top and a pair of converse had all seemed very surreal, her mind was very far away during these menial tasks. Her lazy roommate later walked out of her room, with hair that resembled birds nest.

"How do you get up so early?!" Hannah moaned, and Ramona shrugged.

"It's a talent.I'm off to meet Toby, anyway. Bye, Han." She grabs her leather jacket and walks out of the building, and decides a quick cigarette would be the best to calm her nerves that seemed to be fraying at the ends. Suddenly, two men in black suits walk up to either side of her, as a black Mercedes with matching windows pulled up in front of her menacingly. She looks at the men. _Late 20's both of them. Nice job, very expensive suit. Unarmed. A small dog. Two. Three. _She smirks. _What could they want with me? _

"You're going to have to come with us, Miss Doherty." They speak in a deep voice.

"Why would that be, exactly?" She raises an eyebrow.

"That is highly classified information. Do you know where you're going?"

She smirks. "How could I not?"

She waits in the back of the Mercedes, presumably waiting for Sherlock. Ramona feels strangely excited for this, whatever it is. Moments later, Sherlock walks out of the building, with just a sheet wrapped around him, looking very indifferent and amused. _Oh my god, he can't wear that to Buckingham Palace! _

The detective slides into the car awkwardly, not wanting to flash. He looks genuinely surprised when he sees Ramona Sat in the seat next to him.

"Why are you here?"

She took slight offence to this. "Maybe because they need someone who can deduce?"

He twitched slightly at this, turning up his nose. "Where are we going then?"

"Buckingham palace, of course. I really thought you would have figured that out by now. Getting slow, Mr Holmes."

He was furious. "I am not- I am not getting slow!"

"Because you always were?" She says teasingly.

He scowls and looks out of the window, unknowing to the fact that Ramona can see him smiling in the reflection. She remembers Toby and pulls out her phone to cancel, her long fingers tapping at the screen.

**Sorry, I'm not going to be able to meet you, feeling really ill :(**

There's a reply almost instantly.

**Oh, ok, we can meet some other time. **

She could tell she was starting to annoy him.

Sherlock smirks smugly at the fact she had to cancel, and Ramona shoots him an annoyed look.

"I'll rip that sheet off you if you don't shut up."

The two are met by John sitting on the couch, Ramona sits next to him and Sherlock next to her.

"What are we doing here?" John speaks up, as Sherlock stares forward calmly. Ramona pulls a confused look and then smiled.

"More to the point," She looks up at Sherlock. "Are you wearing any pants?"

"No." She sighs, and then they all burst out into laughter, breaking the silence in the grand room.

"Buckingham palace, fine." John tries to compose himself. "I am seriously fighting the impulse to steal an ashtray." The other two chuckle.

"Seriously Sherlock, what are we doing here?" Ramona asks.

"I don't know." The words sounded odd and dis pleasant in the detectives mouth.

"Here to meet the Queen?" She adds.

A man walks in, and Ramona quickly deduces. _Right handed, expensive job, high up in the government. Has an odd relationship with his brother... No, Sherlock's brother?" _

"Apparently, yes." Sherlock says, and They all crack up, still giggling as the stern man looks watches at them with an exasperated look.

"For once, can you act like adults?"

Ramona replies. They solves crimes,this one blogs about it, and this one forgets his pants, I wouldn't hold too much hope."

The man smiles. "Ah, Ramona. I trust you already know who I am?"

"Sherlocks big brother, literally and figuratively, of course." She smiles back at the chuckling man, Sherlock raises an eyebrow, not wanting to look impressed.

"My trust was well placed." He smiles.

Sherlock looks up at his brother, all humour now gone from his face. "I was in the middle of a case, Mycroft."

"What, the hiker and the backfire? A bit too obvious, surely?"

"Transparent." Sherlock replies, John looks startled.

"Time to move on, then." Mycroft bends down to pick up the clothes on the table, turning to offer them to Sherlock, who gazes upon the folded suit with disinterest. Mycroft sighs.

"We are in Buckingham Palace, the heart of the British nation." He starts more seriously. "Sherlock Holmes, put your trousers on." Ramona smirks watching the exchange, whilst Sherlock shrugs at his brother.

"What for?"

"For your client." Mycroft replies.

Sherlock stands up. "Ah yes, and who is my client?"

A man walks in. "Illustrious," John and Ramona stand up. "In the extreme. And remaining Anonymous."

The man shakes hands with Mycroft. "May I apologise for the state of my brother?"

"Full time occupation, I should imagine." Sherlock scowls at this, making Ramona grin.

"And this must be Doctor John Watson, formerly of the Fifth Northumberland fusiliers." They shake hands.

"Yes, hello."

"And you must be Ramona Doherty." They shake hands.

"Hello." She's slightly dazed by the whole surreal experience.

"And Mr Holmes the younger. You look taller in your photographs."

Sherlock looks indifferent. "Take the precaution of a good coat and a short friend." The detective walks up to his brother.

"Sorry Mycroft, I don't do anonymous clients. I'm used to mystery at one end of my cases. Both ends are too much." He looks round to the other man. "Good morning." And proceeds to walk out of the room, to which Mycroft steps on the end of his bed sheet, causing it to fall to around his waist, leaving him grasping at it to not leave him naked. Ramona realises it wouldn't bother her too much. Sherlock now looks furious.

"This is a matter of national importance. grow up."

"Get off my sheet!" Sherlock says with gritted teeth.

"Or what?"

"Or I'll just walk away." Ramona feels something drop from her chest to her stomach.

"I'll let you."

"Who. Is. My. Client!" Sherlock's extremely angry.

"Look around and make a deduction. You are to be engaged by the highest in the land. Now for gods sake... put your clothes on!" Sherlock closes his eyes in fury, and intakes breath sharply.

Sherlock is now dressed and leant back on the sofa, his arms outstretched along the back. Ramona sits back as to not look attached.

"Here is your brief." Mycroft pulls out an A4 glossy picture of a pretty black haired woman out of an envelope.

"What do you know about this woman?" Mycroft asks openly to the three, Ramona decides to speak up at the other twos loss for words.

"Irene Adler. Dominatrix, professionally known as 'The Woman'. She was the center of two political scandals just this year, she also recently caused the divorce of a prominent novelist, by having an affair with the two of them." Ramona couldn't help but smirk at the last fact.

"Good, someone who pays attention the world." Sherlock scowls.

"Dominatrix..." Sherlock says thoughtfully.

"Yes, dominatrix. Don't be alarmed, it's to do with sex."

Sherlock replies quickly. "Sex doesn't alarm me."

Mycroft smiles slyly. "How would you know?" Ramona couldn't help but hearing her own voice in this. Sherlock stares at his brother, annoyed. "She provides, shall we say- recreational scolding for those who enjoy and are willing to pay for it." He hands them pictures from her website, with Irene looking her best.

"And I assume this Adler woman has some compromising photographs?"

"You're very quick, Mr Holmes." The man sat next to Mycroft says.

"Photographs of whom?" Ramona asks.

"We can tell you it's a young person." John drinks from his teacup. "A young female person." John freezes, Ramona and Sherlock smirk.

"John, you might want to put down your cup now." John complies to this advice.

"Will you take the case?" The man looks at Sherlock.

"What case? I suggest you pay her now, and in full." Sherlock suggests.

"As miss Adler says in her masthead, 'know when you are beaten'." Ramona adds, and Sherlock smirks at her.

"She doesn't want anything." Mycroft replies to the leaving Sherlock. "She got in touch, and informed us she does not intend to use them to extort either money nor favour."

Ramona raises an eyebrow and smiles excitedly, exchanging a look with Sherlock.

"Ooo, a power play. a power play with the most powerful family in Britain."

"Now that's a dominatrix. This is getting fun, isn't it?" Ramona adds, getting more excited by the minute. The three other men look between the two.

"Are you sure you aren't related?" John asks.

"Maybe they have the same home planet?" Mycroft shrugs, causing Ramona and Sherlock to scowl. Sherlock and Ramona reach for their coats.

"Where is she?" He asks.

"Uh, she's currently staying in London-"

"Text me the details. I'll have them by the end of the day." Says Sherlock, walking off.

Ramona stops. _Something doesn't add up. All the workers are non-smokers, yet they're ashtrays? Oh my god... _"Just one thing." She speaks up, and Sherlock swivels round to look at her talking to the two men.

"Yes?"

"I'm going to need equipment."

Mycroft replies. "Yes of course, I'll have it sent-"

Ramona butts in. "Can I have a lighter? Or a box of matches?"

The men look confused, Mycroft's friend answers. "We don't smoke." Sherlock smiles at the girl, knowing where she's going.

"No, but your employer does." They all look shocked.

"We have kept everyone in the dark about this little fact, Miss Doherty."

Ramona smirks. "I'm not the commonwealth." The man hands her a heavy, expensive and engraved lighter. "We'll have the photos by the end of the day. Good morning." She paces out of the Room with Sherlock and John, who throws an apologetic look over his shoulder before turning a corner.

The trio step out of the taxi into a wide alleyway, and Sherlock turns around to face the two. "Punch me in the face."

John and Ramona share a look. "What?" asks John.

"Punch me in the face. Didn't you hear?" He looks at him incredulously.

"I always hear punch me in the face when you speak, its just usually subtext." Mutters Ramona, making John chuckle.

"Yes, somehow I've gathered that, thank you Ramona." Touching his face absentmindedly. "Actually, you have a more powerful punch than John. You punch me." Ramona smirks as John looks genuinely hurt.

"I'm not going to punch you, Sherlock." He sighs and pushes her back gently. "I'm not that short tempered, give me some credit here." He grabs both her shoulders and slams her forcefully into the brick wall, winding her. She quickly knees him in the crotch and punches him in the face.

"Did you really have to use your legs?" Asks Sherlock, slightly crouching and wincing in pain.

"Bloody hell Sherlock, stop moaning. Don't touch her like that if you don't want a bad response." John sticks up for Ramona, and they exchange a smile.

The detective scowls at the fondness between the two. "If you two are quite finished being so... close, lets get to it."

John smirks. "Jealous?" Shock registers in Sherlock's eyes before a waterfall of indifference falls back over his face.

The taller storms starts walking towards a white house, pulling off his purple scarf. Ramona raises an eyebrow at this response. Quietly, John mutters, "I Didn't hear a no."

"Hello?"

"Ooh! Um, sorry to disturb you. Um, I've just been attacked, um, and, um, I think they ... they took my wallet and, um, and my phone. Umm, please could you help me?"

Ramona could practically hear the smile in the woman's voice. "I could call the police if you want." It's obvious the young woman is trying to hold back her laughter.

"Y-you don't think I could stay here until they come?"

"Of course. Come in." The woman opens the door. But its not **The** woman, Ramona notes.

"I'm a doctor, and this is my niece. We saw it all happen." John says, surprisingly confidently. "Do you have a first aid kit?"

"In the kitchen."

"thank you." The trio say in unison.

Ramona and Sherlock sit on the settee, the detective back to his usual indifferent self. "So whats the plan?"

Sherlock continues to stare into space intensely, as if he's not really there. Ramona tries to not take this as an insult, and fails miserably. "Get the pictures. We need to locate a camera phone. John's going to set the fire alarm off." She had no response, just studied his features more. "Also, If I say Vatican cameos, it's code name for duck. I don't think this is going to be dangerous, but..." His voice trails off.

"But?"

"I don't think you should be here."

"What?" Ramona didn't know whether to be hurt or flattered.

"You're extremely out of your depth. I don't even know why Mycroft wanted you here. Probably a mistake, and he just didn't want to be rude."

"I'm staying whether you like it or not, Sherlock."

He suddenly turns to her, his gaze is intense, but distilled with something else, that Ramona couldn't figure out. "Go."

Suddenly, a stark naked woman walks into the room, Ramona looks up. "Too late." She whispered to the detective, still looking at her. He turns around.

"I'm sorry to hear you got hurt, I don't think Kate caught your name?"

"I'm so sorry, I'm-"

Irene straddles him, and takes out his dog collar. "There. Now we're both defrocked." Ramona felt a strange feeling of twirling in her stomach that seemed to get into her bloodstream, until she could feel it in her wrists.

"And, of course, the apprentice detective." The black haired woman turns to her, making her feel ostracized, almost a third wheel.

"I wouldn't call myself that if my life depended on it. Pleased to meet you, Irene." The woman smirked.

"Oh, a spitfire, I like those. I also like detective stories. And detectives." She smiles at the both of them. _What does she want with both of us? A threesome is a definite no, sorry. Flattering, however. I can't deduce anything from her. _She shares a look with Sherlock. It was clear he was having the same problem. She could read him, but not her. "Do you know what the problem with a disguise is, detectives? It's a self portrait." brows furrow at this.

Suddenly john walks in. "I've missed something, haven't I?"

Irene looks up, almost amused. "Please, sit down. I could get tea if you'd like?"

"I already had tea at the palace." Says Ramona.

"Yes, I can see that." Their eyes are locked.

"We had tea at the palace too, If you care." John speaks up. "Also, could you put something on?"

"Why? Feeling exposed are we?" Ask Irene, raising an eyebrow. Ramona averts her eyes to her lap, where she wants them stationed until she leaves.

Sherlock stands up. "I don't think John knows where to look."

"Oh, I think John knows exactly where to look." Replies Irene.

"You, however..." Ramona adds. Sherlock's eyes show genuine hurt as he looked at the girl before a neutral mask was slammed back on his face.

"If I wanted to know where to look, I would borrow Johns laptop." Ramona smiles.

"You do borrow my laptop." Adds John.

"I confiscate it." Ramona stifles a laugh.

"Anyway, we have better things to think about." She walks over to the couch and pulls on Sherlock's coat, slipping off her black heels. Ramona didn't like the sight. Not Sherlock's coat. "The hiker with the bashed in head."

"What?" Ramona asks.

Sherlock replies to the girl. "A man in a car breaks down in a field, there's a hiker with a dog on the other side of the field, back turned, Hes a returned sportsman. The mans car gives out and suddenly the hiker's lying dead."

Ramona is silent, and is suddenly aware the whole rooms eyes are on her, practically watching the cogs in her head turn. twenty seconds pass. Her eyes widen for a brief second, and a smile spreads across her face. "Give me a hard one next time?" Sherlock smiles at the girl genuinely, meanwhile outside their bubble the man and women share a puzzled look.

Sherlock's eyes don't leave Ramona's. "Anyway, that's not the reason we're here."

"No, no, no. You're here for the photographs. And since that's happening, since we're chatting..."

"That story's not on the news yet. How do you know about it?" John asks.

"I know one of the policemen, well, I know what he likes." Irene answers.

"Oh. Do you like policemen?"

"I like mysteries. Brainy's the new sexy." She tells John, who's sitting down next to her.

"Positionofthecar." Says Ramona incoherently.

"Sorry?" Asks Irene.

"The position of the car relative to the hiker and the fact that the death blow was the back of his head. That's all you need to know."

"Okay, tell me: How was he murdered?"

"He wasn't." Ramona answers. Sherlock tries to suppress a smile.

"You don't think it was a murder?" Irene asks, leaning forwards.

"She knows it wasn't." Sherlock stands up. "The same way she knows that the victim was a sportsman returning from foreign travel as the pictures are in this room."

"Okay." Replies Irene.

"Thank you, so they are in this room. John, man the door." John walks out of the room. Ramona decides to stand up too, she hated feeling smaller than other people. "Two men alone in the countryside several yards apart, and one car."

"Oh. I thought you were looking for the photos now?" Irene is obviously confused. However, Ramona has cottoned on to what Sherlock is trying to do.

"No, no. Looking takes far too long. We are going to find them, but you're moderately clever, so we might as well pass the time." Ramona smiles at the woman. "Two men, a car, nobody else. The drivers trying to fix his car, getting nowhere fast. And the hiker, he's taking a moment. looking at the sky, perhaps the birds?" Ramona shrugs. "Any moment now, somethings going to happen. what?" Ramona asks.

"The hikers going to die." Replies Irene, unsure.

"No, that's the result. Whats going to happen?" Asks Sherlock.

"I don't understand." Says Irene.

"Oh, well, try to." Sherlock looks exasperated.

"Why?"

"Because you cater to the whims of the pathetic, and get naked to make an impression. Think." Sherlock expresses.

"It's the new sexy." Ramona adds and smiles.

"The cars going to backfire."

"There's going to be a loud noise."

"So?"

"Oh, noises, noises can hide things. They can also, however, reveal things..." Answers Ramona, and looks to the door. The fire alarm goes off, and Irene looks toward the painting over the fireplace.

"Thank you. In a fire, a mother would look towards her baby." He traces his fingers around the edges of the frame, lifting it off.

"Amazing how fire exposes our priorities." States the girl, watching the detective. "Really hope you don't have a baby in here." She looks to the woman, causing Sherlock to snigger.

"All right John, you can turn it off now." The beeping stops.

"Hmm. Should always use gloves with these things, you know. Heaviest oil deposit's always on the first key used – that's quite clearly the three – but after that the sequence is almost impossible to read. I'd say from the make that it's a six digit code." Sherlock thinks out loud.

"Can't be your birthday – no disrespect but clearly you were born in the eighties; the eight's barely used, so ..." Adds Ramona. Sherlock grins like an idiot, still facing the vault to avoid her seeing.

"I'd tell you the code right now but you know what? I already have." Says Irene, suddenly speaking in riddles. The pair of detectives frown at each other.

Suddenly, The door burst open, and the leader of a group of American's points his pistol at Sherlock."Hands behind your head." He then looks to Irene. "On the floor, keep it still." The man who is dealing with Ramona however, doesn't let her get down before he's pushing her down by her head hard, and then her whole body, and then hes got one hand forcefully on the back of her neck, the other one squeezing hard on her shoulder.

The americans hands on Ramona made her feel hysterical, and her breath shortened as she closed her eyes and tried to stop the panic attack. _Don't don't don't don't don't have one in front of these please no oh my god I can't breath I can't I'm going to die I can't get any air where has my oxygen gone no please oh my god get off me get off get off. _

"GET OFF HER!" Sherlock surprisingly bursts out, causing everyone in the room to raise their eyebrows.

"We'll do exactly as we please, Mr Holmes. If you haven't noticed, we're the ones with guns." Ramona lowers her head more and her hair falls in front of her face, her frame quickly rising and falling, trying to keep up with her lungs. Sherlock twitches at this sight and looks visibly pained. Ramona doesn't see this.

"Do you want me on the floor as well?" Sherlock spits.

"No Sir, we wan't you to open the safe."

"Ah, American, interesting. Why would you care?" His eyes don't move from the blonde girl.

"Sir, the safe, now, please." The american sounds rushed.

"I don't know the code."

"We've been listening. She said she told you."

"Well, if you'd been listening, you'd know she didn't." Retorts Sherlock.

"Assuming from your reputation, I'm assuming she did." John rolls his eyes.

"She's the one who knows the code for gods sake, ask her!"

"Yes Mr Watson, she's also the one who knows the code that calls the police."

Ramona struggles to regain her breath, and feels more dread mounting in her stomach. "H-he didn't- doesn't k-know, the code." She pained to push out the words between fluttering breaths.

"Shut up! One more word out of you, and I'll decorate the walls with the insides of your pretty little head. In fact, I might just do that anyway." Ramona finally regains her breath, holding herself up on her shaking hands and knees. Sherlock practically growls and clenches his jaw, his blue eyes almost black with rage. "In fact, Mr Archer, on the count of three, shoot Miss Doherty." The detectives eyes widen. The man presses the muzzle of his pistol into the back of Ramona head, who feels the unpleasant cold metal of it.

"One."

_I'm going to die._

"I don't know it the code!" Sherlock shouts.

_I'm dead._

"I'm willing to believe you any second now."

_Will it hurt?_

"Two."

_Please Sherlock, please please please please. Sherlock. _

"STOP! I- I know the code. Please stop." There was a pang in Ramona's stomach. Sherlock had said please. For her. He looked visibly shaken as his gaze becomes distant, his mind working fast. he enters a series of numbers, and the safe makes a loud beep. Ramona exhales loudly, and realises she's been holding her breath. Sherlock sighs loudly and closes his eyes in relief, instantly looking to Ramona.

"Thank you, Mr Holmes. Now open it, please."

"Vatican cameos!" He shouts as he opens the safe immediately ducking to the side, Ramona throws herself to the floor, as a bullet flies directly above her, hitting Mr Archer in the chest. She waits for the painful flashbacks, but there are none. She spring into action, hitting the man who was above John, And then the ring leader. She punched him hard in the gut, winding him, then took his pistol and smashes the butt end of the gun savagely onto his head, sending the man into unconsciousness. Sherlock stares at her, and she hands the gun to Sherlock.

"I don't like those." She says, almost breathless. Sherlock smiles, and he had a wild urge to take the girl in his arms.

"Don't you dare do that to me again." He said under his breath.

"Sorry?" Ramona didn't hear him.

"Hm? Oh, just thinking." Ramona raises an eyebrow at the detective, and then pulls on a neutral expression.

"We should call the police." States John to Sherlock.

"Yes." He takes off the silencer of the pistol and walks outside, and the women hear five gunshot. "On their way!"

Sherlock paces back into the sitting room, tossing a mobile in the air. "Well, that's the knighthood in the bag." Ramona's eyes widen.

"Ah, and that's mine." Irene holds out her hand to him. Ignoring her, he holds up the phone to her. It has a security lock, an I AM over four white squares, and under them a LOCKED.

"I'm assuming the photographs are on here?"

"I have copies, of course." She was lying, of course.

"No you don't." Says Ramona. "You would have demolished any uplink or connection, any chance of getting hacked. Unless the contents of this phone are provably unique, you wouldn't be able to sell them."

She looked the the girl, folding her arms. "Who said I'm selling?"

"This lot," She gestures to the dead and unconscious bodies on the floor. "Otherwise, you have something better than photos on that, don't you?" Her eyes glitter with curiousity.

"That camera phone is my life, detectives. I'd die before I'd let you take it. It's my protection."

Suddenly, they hear John shouting for them. They rush upstairs to a bathroom, where the woman who answered the door is lying face down. John puts an ear to her face and takes her pulse. "Must have come in this way." States John.

"Clearly." Replies Sherlock.

Irene walks anxiously to her friend. "It's okay, she's just out cold."

"Well god knows, shes used to that." She replies. "There's a back door. Better check that, doctor Watson."

"Sure." Replies John.

Sherlock walks out of the bathroom, brushing past Ramona, who feels the camera phone being put in her hand discreetly. She looks up at him, and they share a secretive look, before she puts it in her pocket and follows him into the bedroom with Irene, who stands next to her dressing room table.

"You seem calm." Ramona tells her. She looks at the two blankly. "Well, your booby trap did just kill a man." Ramona frowns at the lack of a response. Irene walks over to Sherlock silently and strokes his left arm, and then stabs a syringe into his right arm.

"W-what?" Sherlock asks dazedly.

"WHAT DID YOU JUST DO?" She paces angrily to Irene, intending the worst, until Irene turns around and violently stabs her with one as well. "Shit..."

Sherlock's beginning to lose control of himself, and he throws himself onto Ramona for support, causing the girl to topple over from his weight. "Give me the phone!" She asks Sherlock, who's pushing himself off the girl, who is slowly gaining his symptoms. Irene suddenly brings out a riding crop. "Give it to me!" She hits him with it. "Oh, you don't have it." She looks over to Ramona, who's lying on her back. "But you, you-" John suddenly arrives through the door.

"What are you doing?"

"Oh don't worry, it wears off. I use it on loads of my friends." She's exiting through the window now. "But just don't let them choke on their own sick." She swings her legs over the window pane. "It makes for a very unattractive corpse." Sirens can be heard in the distance, Ramona's now unconscious hand is grasping the phone, Sherlock's arm is outstretched over her stomach.

* * *

**That was extreeeemly long **

**It's been a while, but I'm going to start adding actual sherlock now :)**

**please review, it keeps me writing**

**hope you enjoyed!**


	9. Best of friends

**Best Of Friends**

**I don't own anything apart from the oc.**

* * *

The drugged girl jerks back into consciousness. She's wrapped in her own covers, in her own room, but for some reason feels disorientated, like a teenager who doesn't have any depth perception because they grew in the night. She suddenly remembers what happened, and tries to stand up, but falls straight back down. She shakes her head, trying desperately to clear the haze.

"Hannah?!" She shouts, and a few seconds later the door gently opens to reveal a cautious Hannah.

"Are you alright? I could make you some soup if you wanted." Ramona had always been fascinated as to the caring nature of her best friend, which still puzzled her now.

"How am I here?"

"Y-you live here last time I checked."

"Yes yes but wheres the woman?"

"The woman?" asks Hannah in an incredulous tone.

"The woman woman!" Ramona expresses.

"Have you been hallucinating? God knows what you took..."

"The phone then!" She slowly lifts herself off the bed, supporting herself with a wobbly arm on the bedpost.

"The phone? Oh yes, It's in your jacket." She digs into the right pocket of the jacket hung on the back of the door. Ramona's bedroom was exactly the same as Sherlock's, so was the whole of the apartment, as hers was right above theirs. Hannah pauses rummaging and checks the other pocket. She furrows her brow and turns around to her roommate. "Er, Ray?"

"Yes?"

"Whats- what's Sherlock's coat doing here?" Ramona's eyes widen as she rushes over to check the pockets of all the jackets there, fumbling.

"The phone, it's... it's gone." She states. Suddenly a harsh winter breeze hits the two girls from her bedroom window, curtains bellowing in. "That- that wasn't open when I got here, was it?" The girls stare out into the north London landscape, sirens wailing in the distance, a starless night sky.

"Why would someone break into our flat, on the second floor, to get some bloody camera phone?" Ramona ignores the question as she goes to the window and shuts it with a bang.

"I know one thing," She walks out of the room, pulling on a pair of trainers. "Sherlock's going to be extremely pissy about this." She grabs the big coat and exits the flats, now relatively sober. She stumbles down the stairs to reach the door of 221B, falling against it, and knocking weakly. John answers.

"Hello, what are you doing up? Sherlock's still-" He's cut off by the detectives shouts.

"RA- JOHNN!" John smiles.

"Speak of the devil." He gestures for her to come in. He paces to Sherlock's bedroom.

"You alright?" He asks the detective.

"Wheres Ramona? And the phone, the woman." He's sat behind his bed on the floor, looking dazed. She walks in.

"I'm right here, coping with the drugging much better than you, apparently." Ramona didn't know whether to be proud or ashamed of this fact.

"I- I am fine." He states.

"Yeah, whatever you say." She smiles down at Sherlock in his crumpled suit. "Get back into bed, you obviously need to sleep this off."

"I'm fine, perfectly fine. obviously fine." She nods sarcastically, looking over to the window for signs of a break in. nothing had been moved or was out of place. Ramona goes over to the back of his door to hang the coat up.

"She broke into my flat. Well, more specifically, my room." She says nonchalantly, as if talking about the weather. Sherlock and John visibly bristled.

"Irene Adler?" The smaller man asks, concerned.

"Yeah. She gave back his coat, but she took the phone." John's eyes widen as Sherlock sighs exasperatedly into his pillow case.

"For gods sake." He yawns, making John and Ramona smirk.

"We won't keep you up any longer. Goodnight you two, we'll discuss this tomorrow." Ramona smiles at the sleepy form of Sherlock and says goodbye to John before exiting the flat and walking back to hers, where Hannah's jumping up and down excitedly clutching her phone.

"OH MY GOD RAMONA YOU'RE NOT GOING TO BELIEVE IT!"

"No, I probably wont." She says sarcastically.

"Harry Just surprised me! We're going to Switzerland for Christmas!" She grabs the tired girls hands and does a little dance. Ramona thinks she can feel her spirit drop out of her chest and onto the floor boards. "Isn't this exciting!" Ramona had never trusted Harry, though there wasn't any reason not to. She had always felt he wasn't good enough for her best friend. But then again, who was?

"Er, yeah that's- that's great." Hannah sensed her disappointment, although Ramona had always insisted she disliked Christmas, along with everything else ever, she had always seen her roommates eyes light up seeing snow or 'reluctantly' putting up the tree.

"Hey, its okay, I'm pretty sure John, Sherlock and Mrs Hudson'll be doing something that they'll invite you to!" Ramona rolls her eyes forgivingly at her friend, smiling.

"What a lineup that is." They both laughed. "I hope you have a good time there."

"Me too." They both smiled, had a midnight snack, and went to bed.

Morning came too quickly and before she knew it Ramona was in the boys apartment, sitting at the table with John, watching Mrs Hudson dust. Sherlock strode into the living room, dressing gown flying behind him like a cape, his pace breaking on seeing her. She laughs at John's joke. He sits down at the table.

"Good morning Mr Holmes." She said jokingly.

"You're in a surprisingly good mood." His eyes narrow, making her lean back slightly.

"The real surprise here is the involvement of Americans in what supposedly is a couple of cheeky photos." John smiles at her choice of words. Sherlock leans in.

"Exactly! There's something more on that phone, but what?" He sniffs and picks up a newspaper. A few seconds later, Mycroft walks in, suave as ever.

Sherlock doesn't look up to greet his brother. "The photos are completely safe."

"Ah yes, In the hands of a fugitive sex worker." He says sarcastically, standing in the doorway of the room.

Sherlock puts the newspaper down. " She's not interested in blackmail. She wants ... protection for some reason. I take it you've stood down the police investigation into the shooting at her house?"

"She'd applaud your choice of words. You see how this works: that camera phone is her 'Get out of jail free' card. You have to leave her alone. Treat her like royalty, Mycroft." Ramona watches quietly at the exchange of brotherly love. Her and John exchange a look.

"Although, not the way she treats royalty." She says to Mycroft, smiling, making John chuckle. Mycroft exchanges with a humourless smile.

"Did you know there were other people after her too, Mycroft, before you sent John, Ramona and I in there? CIA-trained killers, at an excellent guess." Ramona nods.

"Yeah, Thanks for that Mycroft." Adds John. Mrs Hudson sets down a plate of breakfast in front of Sherlock, making Ramona frown. _Why don't we get a Mrs Hudson? _

"It's a disgrace, sending your little brother into danger like that. Family is all we have in the end, Mycroft Holmes." Says Mrs Hudson sternly, patting Sherlock's shoulder.

"Oh do shut up Mrs Hudson." Snaps Mycroft. Ramona's Jaw drops.

"MYCROFT!" Her and Sherlock shout in unison.

"OI!" Shouts John.

Mycroft looks over their faces contorted by rage and cringes, looking over to his victim. "My apologies."

"Thank you." Nods Mrs Hudson.

"Though, do in fact shut up." Adds Sherlock. Ramona fights a smirk and looks at him disapprovingly. Sherlock could obviously see right through her facade, smiling at her.

Sherlock reluctantly looks away to his brother."There's nothing you can do and nothing she will do as far as I can see."

"I can put maximum surveillance on her."

"Why bother? You can follow her on Twitter. I believe her user name is 'TheWhipHand'." Ramona smirks at the way he pronounces the 'wh'.

"Yes. Most amusing." Mycroft smiles sarcastically. Suddenly, his phone starts to ring.

"S'cuse me." He answers his phone and walks out. "Hello."

Ramona turns to John. "So, What are you doing for Christmas?"

"Me and Sherlock-" Sherlock throws him a disapproving look. "I," He corrects himself. "Am going to invite a couple of friends round. You and Hannah are welcome to come, I was planning on inviting you anyway." She smiled but it didn't reach her eyes.

"I- I'll be sure to come, thanks. But- er, Hannah's spending Christmas in Switzerland with her boyfriend." She visibly grimaced, making John chuckle.

"Oh well, as long as she gets us presents I'm sure we can forgive her." He replied, grinning infectiously. Ramona suddenly felt a lot better.

Mycroft walked back into the room. " Bond Air is go, that's decided. Check with the Coventry lot. Talk later." He ends the call abruptly. Ramona raises a suspicious brow.

"What else does this Adler woman have?" She asks, standing up.

"Excuse me?" says mycroft coyly. Sherlock gets up.

"The Americans wouldn't be interested in her for a couple of compromising photographs. There's more." He says to his brother. Mycroft looks between the two standing next to each other stony faced.

Ramona turns to Sherlock. "Something better." She looks back to Mycroft. "Something big's coming, isn't it?"

"Irene Adler is no longer any concern of yours. From now on you three will stay out of this."

Ramona smirks at this. As if this has ever stopped Sherlock before. "Oh we will, will we?" Says Sherlock.

"Yes, you will." Snaps Mycroft sternly. Sherlock shrugs and turns away to the window.

"Now, if you'll excuse me, I have a long and arduous apology to make to a very old friend." Mycroft says. Sherlock picks up his violin.

"Do give her my love." says Ramona to Mycroft, winking. Sherlock begins to play the national anthem to Mycroft. He rolls his eyes and leaves the room, Sherlock still playing following him out. John and Ramona grin at each other. Sherlock turns back to the window, still playing. Ramona realises she could watch him play forever.

* * *

**Sorry about the shortness, I have exams so I was rushing a teeny bit because revision :( **

**This was a bit of a filler to be honest, but it had to be done. **

**Review and I'll love you 5ever **

**I have a feeling this is going to be a reallyyy long story :)**

**thanks for reading!**


	10. Are You In Love With A Notion?

**Are you in love with a notion?**

**I own nothing but the oc**

* * *

The university was decorated to the nine's with fairy lights and festive stuff, giving it a much more warm vibe. Ramona hated to admit it, but she adored christmas. She still felt like a little girl at this time, and had never lost the sense of wonder accompanied with it. The trio walked out of the hallways after classes into the completely white london street. Ramona pulled out a wooly scarf and blew out air, making steam in the cold air. Hannah had left for switzerland yesterday, so she was going christmas shopping with Ellie and Amber, the giddy pair kept her interested in the shops.

"Ooh, look at these!" Amber gestures for them to come and look at a pair of very high black high heels. Ramona felt fear strike into her. She had about a 78.3% of falling and snapping her neck in those. She shuddered.

"They're bloody dangerous, that's what those are." The pair laugh as Ramona searched more of the shop. What could you get for Sherlock Holmes? She had presents for everyone, For Hannah she'd gotten a pandora bracelet with a charm, a jumper for John, a couple of books and some cute little house plants. But what to get for the man who despises just about everything? What to get that wouldn't make him scoff, roll his eyes or laugh? _Maybe I should murder someone and give him a case to solve. Oh, Cluedo! Wait, oh my god no._ She smiled at the thought of him playing Cluedo. A Tie? _He doesn't wear ties Idiot. It's the one thing he doesn't wear. _

"I don't have a clue what to get for Sherlock." She said absent mindedly, thinking the two girls were behind her. But someone else was.

"Is that a compliment, or an insult?" A deep voice says from behind her, giving her goosebumps on the back of her neck. She turned around quickly.

"Oh, Hello. Wasn't expecting to see you here."

"i'm... Christmas shopping." He said, as if it was murder. Ramona raised her eyebrow. The thought amused her. "What?"

"It's just, I can't really Imagine you giving anyone any presents, no offence or anything, but I thought John would have to put 'From John and Sherlock' On all of them." She smiled at the thought. Sherlocks brow creased.

"We're not a couple, you know." Ramona smirked. "We're not!"

"Yeah okay, whatever you say." She nods sarcastically and turns to look at christmas cards.

"I hate all of this, the lights, the music..." Sherlock shudders.

"That's the spirit! You're basically saint Nick himself!" She was in a very joking mood today.

"So, what are you going to get me?" Sherlock smiled. She turned to look at vases.

She sniffed indifferently. "Well, I was thinking, maybe commit a bit of homicide, give you a lovely case." She smiled and walked through the shop, Sherlock following beside her.

"How thoughtful of you." She could hear the smile in his voice.

"Seriously though, what do I get the man who hates just about everything?"

He shrugs. "Well that's helpful." He smirks as she sighs. Her eyes suddenly widen as she hears giggling approaching them. "Play nice, please." Sherlock winks at her.

"Hello you two!" Says Ellie. Ramona opens her mouth to speak but Sherlock buts in, smiling.

"Hello, I'm Sherlock. I don't think we've met."

Amber giggles. "I'm Amber, and this is Ellie."

"It's a pleasure to meet you both." He smiles at the two girls who are visibly fighting the urge to swoon, while Ramona fights the urge to laugh. _This is so unlike Sherlock, he honestly should of become an actor, well, he certainly has the looks for it... Shut up! _ Was she day dreaming about Sherlock Holmes now? She shook her head to try and get a grip of herself.

"Ramona was just having trouble buying for me, can you ladies think of any suggestions?" He asks coyly. The girls look at each other in thought.

"Hmm, maybe clothes of some sort..." Ellie drifts off into thought.

"I was thinking more like boxers." Amber winks at the detective who smirks back. _Oh my god... Is she, is he, ARE THEY FLIRTING? Amber and... SHERLOCK? what the actual fuck this is hilarious._ Ramona turns away to look at the christmas cards again, holding her nose to stop herself from bursting out laughing. The girls drifted off, saying goodbye to the two and leaving. Once they were at a safe distance Ramona burst out into guffaws.

"Oh my god Sherlock, that was... You, flirting, that was something else entirely." SHe starts giggling again.

He grins. "You did say to play nicely in all fairness."

"I have a feeling they won't be able to stop going on about you now. I'm going to have to put up with that." She smies and shakes her head. "I always knew you were a boxer kind of guy." She smiles jokingly. After about five minutes of wandering around the shop with him she was even more stuck then before.

"What if I got you... Bloody hell Sherlock can I just give you money?"

"That's a bit impersonal, don't you think?"

She sighs, exasperated. "I- I can't really get you clothes when your coat alone costs around a grand!"

He smiles. "At least you can recognize a good coat when you see one."

"Whatever, I'll surprise you I guess." She smiles and picks up a cute flatcap and puts it on Sherlock. "The real question is; What are you getting me?"

He tries to scowl at the hat and fails, smiling instead. "I don't know, what do women like?" Something twisted in her gut when Sherlock made a connection between her and women, as she had always associated herself as a girl. Maybe that time had passed for her.

"Oh," She puts her hand to her hand melodramatically and sarcastically. "Why kittens and rainbows and the prettiest diamonds and prettier boys!" She puts the back of her hand to her forehead and pretends to swoon sarcastically. Sherlock grins once again at the woman. A text alert on Ramona's phone goes off. She takes it out of her pocket and frowns.

**1 Message from toby**

**Hey! Want to go for coffee? I'm in town :) **

She pouts a little. Sherlock glares at the phone and audibly growls. She frowns up at him.

"What?"

"I've already told you. I dislike that boy." _Funny how for him I'm a woman and he's a boy. _

"Well, It does look like I'm done shopping and you need to get on with it..."

Sherlock pouts to himself before putting a stern look on his face. "I need a womans opinion. Statistically they're much better buying gifts than Men-"

"You'll be fine Sherlock. Just, no socks. Don't buy anyone socks unless they state a need for them." The detective sighs and puts his hands in his pockets.

"Fine, go. But for the record I do not approve of that relationship."

"I didn't realise you were my dad."

"Well, considering the age gap, I could be seen as a father figure-"

"I hate age gaps, stop talking about them. Also, you're in no way close to a father figure." She texted Toby back.

**Yeah alright, meet you at Nero? **

The reply was instant.

**Great :)**

The detective was peering at her screen, reading her texts backwards.

"Oi! Don't be nosy, thanks."

He frowns sarcastically. "That's literally my job, though." He smiled at the woman.

"Right, I'm off Sherlock. Have a good time shopping. I'll get you something good, I promise." She winked at him. "Goodbye detective." She walked off into the street, buttoning up her coat and carrying a shopping bag in each hand. Sherlock watched her leave and felt a strange sinking feeling as he did. The detective decided he didn't like the sight of her leaving, and would make more of an effort to stop that from happening in the future.

Walking down the bustling london shopping street, carollers and freezing buskers on every corner. She absent mindedly walked past a music shop, before doing a double take to look at it. _Perfect. _

Christmas came quickly, and after meeting with her university friends in the day, She headed back home to get changed into a simple black dress with mesh inserts. It covered all of her chest and her shoulders. She slipped on a pair of black high heels, put all of the presents in a bag and made her way down to the flat downstairs, noticing the sign that read "Come straight in" and followed the instructions.

As she walked in, She realised how warm the flat felt. Fairy lights were all around the place, and a lovely tree had been put up. All Johns work, Ramona decided. Sherlock's playing 'we wish you a merry christmas' on his violin, John's in an adorably christmas jumper, his arm wound around a woman Ramona could only assume is his girlfriend, and a man is stood in the doorway to the kitchen. Mrs Hudson is sitting in Sherlocks chair, as he finishes the song with a flourish. Everyone claps as Ramona stands a little awkwardly in the doorway.

"Oooh, wonderful Sherlock. I do wish you'd have worn the antlers, though." She was obviously a bit intoxicated, as she laughed. Ramona smiled at the woman. It suddenly occurs to Ramona that everyone's looking at her.

She smiled awkwardly. "Hello everyone. I don't think I've met you two." She gestures to the man and woman. She notices the men in the room are gawking just a bit, and feels very uncomfortable. Sherlock obviously notices too, as he comes to stand inbetween her and them, breaking their gaze.

"Yes, this is James Lestrade." He gestures to the man.

"Not my name, Sherlock! It's Greg." He smiles at the girl.

"And this is Sarah." The woman looks visibly deflated at this.

"I told you, he's just rubbish at names." John smiles at the woman as she folds her arms.

Everyone starts talking amongst themselves again as Ramona decides to talk more to the lestrade man. "So what do you do, Greg?"

"I'm the DI at scotland yard, that's how I know Sherlock and John."

Ramonas eyes light up at this. "Must be interesting, seeing him work."

"More annoying then interesting most of the time." They share a laugh as the door opens again to reveal the woman she saw in the lab with Sherlock. She recalls her name was Molly.

"Oh dear lord." Muttered Sherlock to Ramona. She looked at him, confused.

"Hello everyone!" John walks over to greet her.

Everybody greets her cheerfully as Sherlock rolls his eyes. She looks at him nervously as she takes off her scarf and coat to reveal a very revealing dress.

John goes to take her coat. "Let me, er ... holy Mary!"

"Wow!" Exclaims Greg in appreciation. Ramona went to sit down at the table with Sherlock.

"We having Christmas drinkies then?" asks the woman. It was clear that she in love with Sherlock. Ramona felt a pang of sympathy for her, as she was obviously trying to get his attention with that dress, and the present at the top of the pile, much better presented than the others, and probably for him. Ramona cringed internally, feeling her pain.

"No stopping them, apparently." Muttered Sherlock. Ramona kicked him in the shin under the table, giving him a stern look.

Mrs Hudson answers cheerfully. "It's the one day of the year where the boys have to be nice to me, so it's almost worth it!" Lestrade offers Molly a drink which she accepts. She giggles nervously and her eyes fix on Sherlock who's typing away at John's laptop.

John leans into the laptop, and Sherlock starts to talk to him. "The counter on your blog: still says one thousand eight hundred and ninety-five".

John pulls a mock angry face. "Ooh, no! Christmas is cancelled!"

Sherlock points to the side bar which has one of the press pictures of him in his deerstalker "And you've got a photograph of me wearing that hat!" Ramona's brow furrows as she turns the laptop slightly so she can see.

"I'll have to take a look at this tonight. Loving the hat, by the way." She smiles at John and Sherlock scowls.

"See? People like the hat."

"No they don't. What people?"

John walks away as Sherlock and Ramona continue to look at the laptop, Ramona giggling at the photo of Sherlock, at first making him scowl, until it turned into a grin. Molly watched jealously, Ramona noticing and stopping, giving it away to Sherlock that she was aware of Molly's infatuation with him. He sighed at Ramona. Molly turns to Mrs Hudson.

"How's the hip?" She asks.

"Ooh, it's atrocious, but thanks for asking."

"I've seen much worse, but then I do post-mortems." Silence falls in the flat as Molly stands there awkwardly. Ramona decides to laugh. Molly smiles at her thankfully, as Sherlock looks at her dissaprovingly.

"Don't make jokes, Molly." Molly looks visibly deflated.

"I will kick you in the shins every time you're mean to that sweet girl." Hissed Ramona. Sherlock rolls his eyes.

Molly turns to John. "I hear you're off to your sister's, is that right?"

"Yeah."

"Sherlock was complaining." He raises his eyes brow indignantly.

"... saying." She corrects herself.

"First time ever, she's cleaned up her act. She's off the booze." John said cheerfully.

"Nope." Corrected Sherlock, not looking up from his laptop.

"Shut up, Sherlock." Ramona and John said in unison.

"I see you've got a new boyfriend, Molly, and you're serious about him."

"Sorry, what?" Asks Molly innocently.

"In fact, you're seeing him this very night and giving him a gift."

"Take a day off." Says John quietly and exasperatedly.

Lestrade puts down a drink onto the table and slides it to Sherlock. "Shut up and have a drink."

"Oh, come on. Surely you've all seen the present at the top of the bag – perfectly wrapped with a bow. All the others are slapdash at best." Ramonas eyes widen in horror. He stands up and walks towards Molly, looking at the other presents which aren't as carefully wrapped. Ramona stands up and grabs his arm, giving him a warning look before letting go. He ignored her.

"It's for someone special, then."

"Sherlock..." Ramonas voice drifted off. He picks up the well-wrapped present.

"The shade of red echoes her lipstick – either an unconscious association or one that she's deliberately trying to encourage. Either way, Miss Hooper has lurrrve on her mind. The fact that she's serious about him is clear from the fact she's giving him a gift at all." John looks to Molly anxiously as she squirms in front of Sherlock. "That would suggest long-term hopes, however forlorn; and that she's seeing him tonight is evident from her make-up and what she's wearing."

"Sherlock, stop!" Ramona shouted at Sherlock as he picks up the gift. She walked over and took the present from him, not having to read the tag to have to know who it was for. Ramona handed the present back to her, before whispering to her.

"He doesn't deserve whatever you've gotten him." She winks at Molly and goes to sit back at the table. It was fair to say she was furious with Sherlock, more angry than when he had had a go at her. To do that to Molly was plain evil. Sherlock swallowed and said sorry to Molly, returning back to his seat. People started talking again after five seconds.

"I can't bloody believe you Sherlock, you knew who that was for, didn't you?" She fumed, and crossed her arms and legs.

"What?"

"It- That was for you, Sherlock!" The detectives eyes widen in shock and he cringes at himself. Her brows furrow at his surprise. "I never took you for modest."

"I- I'm not."

"Thank god I stopped you. How embarrasing it would of been for the both of you." She paused. "Why do you use her like that?"

"I have to get into the morgue somehow." Ramona shakes her head.

"Please try to be nicer to her. It's not fair for her. She's obviously has a massive chemical defect for you, Sherlock, as you would put it." Sherlock smiled sadly at the girl. Ramona looks around, realising something. She walks to the mantelpiece, and there was a red present there that seemed out of place. She looked for the tag, and it read "detectives". Ramona gasps as she realises the contents of the box, and silence falls on the flat, all eyes on her. She closes her eyes sadly for two seconds, and then paces to the Sherlocks bedroom, calling Sherlock to follow her. Molly watches desperately. She sits on the edge of his bed, helplessly. Sherlock enters and closes the door behind him, confused.

"Call Mycroft" She says under her breath to Sherlock.

"Why?" he asks, confused.

"Because... They're going to find Irene Adler tonight."

"What?"

They- they're going to find her dead." Sherlocks face falls. Ramona takes out the camera phone shakily, and grimaces at Sherlock. He unexpectedly pulls her up into a hug, confusing the girl, but she didn't complain, just squeezed her eyes shut and tried to get the image of Irene's dead body out of her head.

* * *

**This was a really quick update**

**hugs are very cute especially from people who supposedly hate them**

**molly is cuter though**

**Hope you liked it!**


	11. Stuck On The Puzzle

**Stuck on the puzzle**

I own nothing but the oc

* * *

St Barts was more morbid then ever, the cold sterile hallways stretching into an abyss. In the morgue it was deadly silent, the kind of silent that makes its own noise and rings in your ears like white noise of its own kind. She looked the window to the morgue before Mycroft was there, standing over what Ramona could assume was Irene's body.

"You shouldn't come in." Sherlock said from behind her. She turned around to face him. "They only need me to identify her."

"I'm going in."

"Don't."

Ramona opens the door. "Too late." Her words don't match her face.

Molly's standing over the body. "The face is a bit smashed up so it might be difficult to see..." She lifts up the sheet and Ramona suppresses the primal urge to scream and cry and be hysterical or at least look away, but she doesn't.

"Show me the rest of her." Says Sherlock grimly. Molly pulls back more of the sheet.

"That's her." Confirms Ramona, she then paces out of the room followed by Sherlock. She looks out the window, watching the snowfall that seemed oblivious to a tragedy.

Sherlock looks out of the window beside her, and she looks up to study him. She could tell that he was in as much pain as she was, but was hiding it much better. He stays completely still, studying each snowflake critically with his eyes that seemed to change colour everyday. SHe looked back out at the snow. It was peaceful, and so quiet, and so still. She realised she wanted to comfort him somehow, maybe even hold his hand, but she knows that she doesn't know how, when she couldn't even comfort herself. Footsteps and the tap of an umbrella are heard behind them, but they don't bother to turn around. a hand comes over their shoulders, holding two cigarettes.

"Just the one?"

"Why?" Asks Sherlock coldly.

"Merry Christmas." Replies Mycroft.

To Ramona's dismay Sherlock takes a cigarette, and she takes one hesitantly, watching him carefully. "Smoking indoors- isn't there one of those... law things?" Mycroft lights the trios cigarettes.

"We're in a morgue- there's only so much damage you can do." Sherlock inhales deeply and then blows smoke out. Mycroft turns to Ramona.

"How did you know she was dead?"

"She had an item that she once said her life depended on. She chose to give that item up." She takes a drag of her cigarette.

"And where is this item now?" Suddenly the girl hears sobbing, and she spots a family of three at the end of the corridor on the other side of the doors, grieving. Her heart heaves for them. No on should have to outlive their children. The three turn to watch them.

"Look at them. They all care so much. Do you ever wonder if there's something wrong with us?" But Ramona knew there was nothing wrong with Sherlock. He was upset. No matter how much he insisted on being a sociopath, Ramona realised it was a delusional diagnosis. He cared about too many people, no matter what he said.

" All lives end. All hearts are broken." He looks to his brother. "Caring is not an advantage, Sherlock." Ramona felt a strange, transparent truth in these words. She loved them. Ramona releases another lungful of smoke into the air and shares a look of disgust with Sherlock, looking down at the cigarettes and then to each other. Low tar.

Mycroft clocks this. "Well, you did both barely know her." She felt a strange liking to this man, he cared about his brother, no matter how cold they both were. The Holmes brothers were a strange pair. She could only wonder about their parents...

"Merry Christmas, Mycroft." Sherlock begins to walk away and she follows him. He's obviously shaken.

"And a happy new year." She hears Mycroft's voice behind her as the swing the doors open.

Before they go in, she hands the phone to Sherlock, insisting he take care of it. Ramona enters 221B before Sherlock. He stops in the doorway of the living room, his eyes scanning.

"Oh, hi." Said John. Sherlock stays silent as his eyes roam the living room. Ramona realises what's happened at the flat. A drugs search in his own home. Who wouldn't be angry? But then again, John only wanted to protect him. Just as everyone else did in Sherlock's life. Maybe she did?

"Hope you didn't Mess up my sock index this time." He storms past her off to his room, slamming the door behind him. John puts down his book and sighs heavily.

"How bad was it?" He asks her.

"For me? Very. For Sherlock Holmes? Who could ever tell?" John nods. Ramona wishes she could follow him and do something for him, but she didn't know what.

"Merry Christmas, Ramona." John gives a smile that doesn't reach his eyes.

"Merry Christmas, John." She leaves and goes to her apartment, where she spends the rest of the night staring up at the ceiling, restlessly thinking about the man downstairs, and how she cared for him too much.

Ramona woke up alone in her apartment, and definitely felt the missing presence of Hannah. She wanted nothing more to call her about what had happened, but she couldn't bring herself to ruin her best friends holiday, with her insufferable boyfriend. She makes her way down to the ground floor, where Mrs Hudson's scrubbing away with a pink bucket full of cleaning products. Ramona instantly felt crippling guilt. It was becoming too commonplace in her life.

"Can I do that for you?" She asked softly. The woman instantly looked up, shocked and almost insulted.

"Oh Ramona, why would you want to do that dear?" the girl smiled and picked up a sponge to clean the sideboards.

"I've already started now, go out and get some me time or whatever they call it." Ramona smiled at the thankful woman, who stood up, and after a hug, left. Ramona cleaned for about ten minutes, until the Americans arrived again. Ramona's eyes widened and she quickly tried to scramble past them into the street, until they grabbed her and she kicked off. She used everything she could to get the hands off her, biting, scratching, and leaving warning signs for Sherlock in the hallway. She figured they were such idiots they wouldn't realise what she was doing. They forced their way into Sherlock's flat and tied her to a wooden chair. They quickly started interrogating her about the phone, and she hadn't the foggiest as to where he'd put it.

"Now I'm going to ask you a simple question, Miss Doherty." He gestured for one of his boys to slip on brass knuckles. "Where is Irene Adler's camera phone."

She tried to look disinterested, unphased. "I don't know, and frankly, don't care." She shrugged.

"I don't think you understand your situation. My boys here, can kill a man with one finger." Ramona rolled her eyes at the man, and his futile attempts to scare her. "And every time you answer with something I do not like, they ensure I like the outcome." Ramona sighed.

"I told you, I don't know. If I did I'm sure I'd be quaking in my boo-" Her sentence was cut off by a silver ring cutting into her cheek.

"If you could let me finish, I'm sure you would be much more enlightened on this subject. If I knew, I would tell you." She lied. "I'm a twenty two year old woman, do you think I'm going to risk something like this for some stupid camera phone I know nothing about?" Another lie. "the fact is, the most important thing I've got going on right now, is my finals, boys, and parties." More lies.

"Nice try. Why were you at Miss Adler;s house if any of that you said is true?"

"I got roped in, I don't know, it's the government and stuff. They're always making mis-" Two punches this time, and she tasted blood in her mouth. "That's going to get really annoying, please, let me finish!"

"No. I'm going to ask you where it is. Every time you reply with a lie, you'll get hurt." Ramona sighed and leaned back. She was in for the long haul it seemed. "Look, I don't know why you think I know bu-" Another punch into her gut, harder than the others. the brass knuckles had winded her and ripped her top. Her favourite top. "Oh for gods sake." She said under her breath as she tried to regain it. Over the next half hour, her arms became numb from being tied in an awkward position, and she was pretty sure the men themselves were tired. It was also fair to say she looked a mess. In spite of her first calmness, she was starting to panic. _They'll eventually get tired of me. Then what. Kill me? Something worse? Oh god... _In sight of all these thoughts, she started to cry, hard. The men became more uncomfortable then when they had been beating her up, which Ramona found extremely ironic and typical. They untied her and let her go to a bedroom for a cry. She then realised she could probably search for it whist they thought this. They closed the door behind her and she watched it close, and then saw his dressing gown hung on the back, with an print of a small rectangle in the pocket. She shook her head. _Idiot. _She decided the safest place for it would be in her bra, as inappropriate as it was. Her interrogation began quickly again, and it wasn't long until she was swallowing blood, had two black eyes, cuts on her face and bottom lip, which had bust, and she was certain a few bruises on her stomach, and heavy purple and green ones on her wrists. For the first time in a long time, she felt frightened. She hung her head forward, tasting rust as blood rushed over her tongue. making her feel sick. Suddenly they heard the door downstairs, and footsteps, in the right gait to be Sherlock._ He has to spot the clues. He has to. _Suddenly he was running up the stairs. Ramona suddenly, in spite of the seriousness of the situation, became very self conscious of her appearance. She was glad of her hair hanging in front of her bloodshot eyes. She heard his leather clad hand on the door handle, and then extreme relief.

"Sherlock..." She realised her voice is raspy, and that her breath was struggling to hold back whimpers of pain, and that she felt helpless. Blind rage set harder onto the detective's face, only softening to look at her.

"I believe you have something that we want, Mr. Holmes."

"Then why don't you ask for it?" Sherlock walks towards Ramona and crouches, putting a hand to the side of her face, she relaxed instantly. He looked concerned, as he analyses her state, looking at the bruises on her wrists. She sighed tiredly as he tucked her hair behind her ears gently and gave her a small smile.

"We've been asking her, but she doesn't seem to know anything." Ramona rolled her eyes at this.

"That's what I've been trying to bloody tell you!" Her voice is hoarse, and Sherlock gives her a luck that says 'don't push your luck'.

Neilson ignores the beaten girl. "But you know what we're looking for, don't you, Mr Holmes."

The detective glares up at the man. "I believe I do." he walks backwards and puts his hands behind his back. "First, get rid of your boys."

"Why?"

"I dislike being outnumbered. It makes for too much stupid in the room."

"You two, go to the car."

"Then get into the car and drive away. Don't try to trick me. You know who I am. It doesn't work." Ramonas stomach churns with anxiety. The two men leave the room and she hears the car start and drive away.

"Next, stop pointing that gun at me."

"What, so you can point a gun at me?"

Sherlock's eyes narrow with hostility as he steps back and spreads his arms out. "I'm unarmed."

"Mind if I check?"

"Oh, I insist." Ramona didn't like the feeling that these lines could definitely be in a porno. Neilson waks past her and she has the strong urge to trip him up, as he makes his way to Sherlock and pats down his breast pockets and then moves behind him, suddenly, Sherlock winks at her and before she can comprehend what's happening, he elbows him and spins round, punching him in the gut and with so much speed, he has him up by the neck against the wall, and Ramona actually feels scared for Neilson, she can see Sherlock's knuckles turning white.

"Don't. You. Dare. Touch. Her. Ever. Again." Sherlock spits at him through gritted teeth, before throwing him on the ground, rendering the American unconscious next to his coffee table. He pulls his gloves off and runs back to her and falls on his knees, untying her.

"Are you alright?" He looks over her face with concerned eyes and holds her face with both hands, forcing her to look at him.

"I'm... alright, I'm fine." She gets up from the chair and he stands up, towering over her.

Sherlock's brows furrow. "Are you sure?" He looks intensely into her eyes, but she doesnt feel uncomfortable now, as her eyes begin to fill up.

"I- I just, I was, I'm just a bit shaken." Her voice shakes on the last, her voice betraying her again, as his eyes widen and he pulls her into his chest, shocking her, as she tried to hold back sobs.

"It's alright, you're alright now." He said in hushed breath slowed and returned back to its natural state, but they still stayed like that until Ramona remembered the unconscious American on the floor.

"Uh, Sherlock?"

"Yes?" He replies gently, starting to stroke her hair.

"what are we going to do with... him." She pulled out of the hug slightly and looked up at him, he released her and his expression turned stony, almost malicious, as he turned to look at Neilson's limp form.

"Something bad, Ramona." He said grimly, smiling at the girl.

Nielson was tied up by the time Ramona got back from her flat after having a wash. She went and sat on the sofa, still trembling. She then realises the american has a black eye and a broken nose. Her eyes widen at the gagged mans state, and at Sherlock's hand wrapped around his pistol, pointing at him.

"Ramona?" He was sat in his leather chair, in a dominating position, his hands sprawled across the ends of the armrests. Ramona felt strangely more safe when he did this. She pulled a confused look at herself._ Why do I have these kind of feelings around him? It's not like I'm... Am I attracted to him? I can't be. Not me. Not him. Please tell me I don't fancy him. He'll find out straight away. I'm so done for if- _"Ramona?" She snapped out of her track of thought, making her jump. Sherlock raised an eyebrow.

"Sorry, I was daydreaming. What was it?"

Sherlock smirked. "About me, I'm guessing." He said playfully.

Ramona's eyes widened and she looked down, trying to avoid him seeing her blush. She slowly looked up, feeling the heat from her cheeks fade. "I- You wish." She smirked back. He smiled.

"I was wondering if you took the phone, I can't find where I put it."

She went red. Sherlock looked confused. "What is it?"

"Erm, I took it out of your dressing gown when they thought I was having a cry in your bedroom." She slowly reaches down the front of her top and pulls it from her bra, embarrassed.

Sherlock stayed silent and then cleared his throat. "Ah, yes. Well done." He looked away to the gagged American. She raised an eyebrow.

"Figured out the password for this thing yet?"

"No, haven't got a clue."

"I don't think we ever will."

He looked down at the floor. "No."

The air was thick with unsaid words as John bust in the door. Sherlock started dialing something and held his phone to his ear.

"What's going on?" He sees Neilson. "Jesus, whats happened?"

"Ramona was attacked by an american, I'm restoring order to the world." John immediately goes and sits next to her, analysing the state of her face. She frowns.

"Oh my god, are you okay?" He asks,concerned.

"Is it that bad?"

"I'm afraid so." Ramona cringes at this.

"People are going to think I got into a fight or something." She pouts. John chuckles and puts a comforting arm around her shoulders.

"Well I'm going to think you're tough. Seriously, how are you so calm?"

She shrugs. "Not that bad. I'm sure people have had worse." John and Sherlock frown.

"I think you should let me take a look at your cuts." She realises how much they're stinging, and that her eyes are watering with pain.

"They're fine, doctor Watson. But thanks." They both laugh and Sherlock scowls and looks away. John and Ramona share a confused look.

"Are you gonna tell me whats going on, Sherlock?" The detective turns round to answer, but before he can, he's interrupted by Ramona.

She shoots up off the couch and winces for a second at the pain, and decides to go a lot slower. "Shit!"

"What is it?" Asks John.

"Mrs Hudson! She can't know about this!"

"What?"

"If i hadn't done the cleaning for her, it would of been her in this situation." Horror filled her face. "She'll blame herself. I need to put away the cleaning things." She tried to run but the pain in her stomach was unbearable, she caught herself on the doorway, breathing deeply. John quickly went to help her get down the stairs. Ramona picked the pink bucket up and took it into Mrs Hudson's flat. Seconds later a body came flying from above. Ramona jumped back at the sudden noise, shared a look with John, and started in hysterics with him.

"How passive aggressive." She smiled at him.

He chuckled. "Hey, have you noticed Sherlock whenever we're laughing together?"

"I- Now that you say that, yeah, I have."

"Do you think, that maybe, he's... You know... Jealous?"

Ramona pulls a confused look. "Of me or you?" She smirks.

"I'm serious. I've seen the way he looks at you."

"What?"

"Well-" He's interrupted by Mrs Hudson coming in through the door.

"What are you two doing here?"

"John was just helping me-"

"Oh dear, whats happened to you?" She inspects the girls face.

"I had a fight with a robber." She shared a look with John.

"What?!"

"Sherlock and John got broken into. They didn't count on me being there." She smiled sweetly, although this was furthest from the truth. "You should see him."

"Ramona Doherty! They could have been armed!"

"He was." She smirked. Mrs Hudson looked suddenly come into earshot, slowly growing in volume.

Sherlock, John and Ramona sit in 221B. She hadn't felt like going out with Ellie and Amber, especially with the state of her face. John fixes himself a drink and Ramona doesn't blame her. She spots a small, silver wrapped box but says nothing, and realises that Sherlock must of opened her present, as it no longer under the tree. She frowns at his lack of... well, anything.

"I still can't believe you aren't in shock."

"It's not that shocking. We're in the possession of some very sensitive material, its obviously going to be dangerous." She looks down at the fireplace. Sherlock picks his violin and tunes it.

"I need to tell you both. Irene's alive."

Their heads both snap up, and then look at each other in unison. Ramona mostly feels relief for Sherlock, but for some reason, dread lingers in her stomach.

"Oh my god." She remarks. He looks back down at his violin, trying to remain disinterested.

"It doesn't really matter, we wont be seeing her again." Sherlock puts down his violin. Johns eyes widen.

"I've forgotten my phone at Mrs Hudson's. Won't be long." He leaves the flat.

Ramona walks over the the window next to Sherlock, watch the snow fall serenely, creating a white city. She had to admit it was beautiful. _Almost as beautiful as Sherl- Shut up! _She realises hes watching her, and looks up to meet his gaze. The detective picks up the silver wrapped box and hands it to her, confusing her.

"It's for you."

She smiles at it and looks up again. "Please don't tell me there's one of your ears in here." He chuckles.

"Unfortunately, no. I thought I would get something of more use to you."

She unwraps it carefully, to reveal a black box. What was she expecting? She lifted up the lid and in it was a big magnifying glass, beautiful in its own right. She beamed up at him.

His eyes widen at her expression, as he was adorably flustered by her happiness at his gift. "seeing as your definitely cut out for the job of a detective, I thought maybe, this would suit."

"Thank you." He looks away, as Big Ben starts to chime. She studies his profile, his blue eyes, his nose, his black hair, and realised how gorgeous he was in the light of the streetlamp outside. She felt a twisting feeling in her chest. They look out of the window together, and Ramona thinks she can feel the magnetism from Sherlock's hands to hers, so she glues it to her side.

He turns back to her, his look intense and his guard down. "Happy new year, Ramona."

Before she knows whats happening, he has a hand on her waist, and one on the side of her face, and they're both leaning in. Time seems to slow to a halt around the pair as eyes are closed,and she realises this is what she's been wanting since she got here. She feels their pulses start to race each other and just as they're an inch apart, John bursts into the room. They both come back to their senses and Sherlock takes quick steps away from her, his eyes wide, shocked at himself. Ramona looks out of the window, embarrassed. _Did I almost kiss Sherlock Holmes? Was he going to kiss me? Sherlock? I fancy him, maybe a bit too much. This is going to get weird. _

_"_Sorry I took so long, I-" John clocks the atmosphere in the room. "Did I miss something?"

* * *

**I Feel a bit evil for interrupting that :)**

**This was very cute, I love writing cute Sherlock, sorry if it was a bit ooc but he has a soft spot for her aw**

**Thanks for reading, please review!**


	12. Joining The Dots

**Joining The Dots**

I own nothing apart from the OC

* * *

Getting up this morning was easier then most for Ramona, because today was the day Hannah came back from Switzerland. Admittedly she had spent most of the night thinking through the days confusing events, and the days confusing man. The door opened at 9:02 am, revealing a laughing Hannah and a smiling Harry. Ramona gave him her best glare and looked away before he could see her trying to stab him with her sharp eyes. Hannah runs to Ramona to give her a bear hug.

"I missed you!" She squeals at her crushed friend, who laughs. Hannah pulls back to study the girl. "Whats wrong with your face?" Hannah pulls a look of shock-horror.

Ramona looks deflated at this. "It's lovely to see you too ." Hannah smiles at this. "Did you have a nice time?" Ramona asks, wanting to change the subject.

"Oh, yes, Switzerland was just beautiful. We had a great time, thanks." Harry nodded and gives Hannah a quick peck on the lips. Ramona feels herself getting agitated and looks away.

Harry goes and sits on the couch, not greeting Ramona. She didn't know how to feel about this. "God, I'm starving. Hannah, babe, you got anything you could make me in the kitchen?" Ramona balled her fists until her knuckles were white, hating that he was acting so nonchalantly. Forgivingly, they were doing long distance, since Harry was still in Leeds. Hannah nods and goes to the kitchen, making Ramona's stomach feel like a sheet of paper getting screwed up, about to be thrown into the bin.

"So, Harry, how long are you planning to stay in London?"

"Well actually, I was going to stay here for two weeks until schools back on." He doesn't look at her and changes the channels on the telly. Ramona's eyes widen and she feels herself stumbling back in horror, eyes fixed onto the back of his head, onto light brown hair. Hannah watches, amused.

"I was going to tell you, but I knew you'd react like, well, this."

She stared at her frizzy haired friend in pure terror. "I can't. He's so..." She puts up her hands in front of her and tenses them, shaking them about, eventually moving to a throttling position.

Hannah laughs. "Don't worry, you'll grow to like him." Harry turns around, grinning stupidly.

"Yeah, I'm cute!" He says jokingly.

"You bet you are." Hannah smiles at him. Ramona makes a gagging gesture silently. _This is going to be my definition of hell, two weeks with this absolute mongrel and this cutesy stuff. "_So, hows it going with Toby?"

"Hm? Oh, alright. I think he might be a bit too keen though." She wasn't wrong. He'd texted her twice this morning already.

"I just think that's cute."

"You think a lot of things are cute." She frowned miserably at the back of Harry's head as she went to sit in her armchair.

"Hey, remember, I passed your stupid boyfriend test thing."

"That means that your suitable. Not that I like you. And it wasn't stupid."

Harry pulled a face at her, She pulled a bigger one. _Two weeks Ramona, two weeks. Do it for Hannah._

"How was Christmas, then?" Ramona decided it was better to lie then to upset her.

"It was good, surprisingly." She smiles at her friend, and then to Harry. "You haven't met out neighbors yet, have you?"

"No, are they nice?"

"Oh, lovely." She says almost sarcastically. Hannah gave her a look as if she was an annoying child. In her eyes right now she probably was. Ramona ignored it and reached to the fruit basket onto the coffee table to retrieve a green apple. Crime watch appears on the television as Ramona lies sideways on the chair with her legs over the armchair pointing to the telly. She started to think about Irene Adler, and the phone, and Sherlock. And what Sherlock thought about Irene, and her. Ramona hated how Sherlock was at the end of every thought, everything everyone says, what his reaction would be to everything that happened to her...

The door suddenly flies open, and everyone whips their head round, all to see Sherlock. Ramona feels her stomach swirling. "Nice of you to knock." She takes another crunch of her apple. He smiles at her seemingly disinterested form.

"Sorry, who's this?" Asks Harry.

"A neighbor. Sherlock Holmes." Suddenly Sherlock appears on the screen.

"And you're Hannah's boyfriend, recently come back from Switzerland with her, doing long distance, actually doing okay, staying here for... Two weeks?" Ramona nods as Sherlock makes a face sympathetically. Harry widens his eyes as Sherlock comes into view on the screen.

"Wondering how he can be here and in the magical box at the same time?" Ramona says, causing Sherlock to laugh. She turns to him."What is it?"

"I'm going to St. Bart's to work out this phone. Fancy it?" Ramona takes a quick look at the situation. She really didn't feel like being a third wheel for the rest of the day.

Ramona shrugs."Alright." She pulls on a winter coat, throws her apple into the bin without looking, and waltzes out of the flat.

"Thanks for that." She says to the detective. He raises a brow. "For saving me. I- I mean, just then, I didn't fancy having to deal with a couple." She says the last word as if a swear word. "So, what are we doing with the phone?"

"X-raying, mainly."

St. Barts doesn't look as gloomy as Christmas in the daylight, Ramona decided. They arrived in outside what looked like a lab.

Sherlock knocks on the locked lab door. "Hello?" A small voice can be heard through the door.

"Hello, Molly." Sherlock somehow managed to sound flirty greeting someone.

"O-Oh, it's you." She sounded very flustered. Ramona didn't understand how she could be so easily manipulated. "You know, I really shouldn't keep letting you in like this."

"Oh come now Molly." He looks through the small window in the door. "Is that a new haircut?" The woman nods meekly. "You suit it." Ramona hears a short sigh and the door opens. Sherlock's back to his normal ignorant self. She gives Molly a sympathetic smile.

Sherlock heads straight to a machine that looks like an X-ray. They both study the screen. Ramona leans in slightly. She sighs exasperatedly, seconds later followed by Sherlock. _Explosive._

"Is that a phone?"

"Yep." Ramona says.

"And you two are... X-raying it?"

"Yes, we are."

"A woman's." Sherlock answers.

"Your girlfriends?" Ramona could see the jealously plastered all over the woman's face. Sherlock turns to Molly and pulls a disbelieving face.

She laughs nervously. "Well, we all do silly things, don't we?" Ramona's eyes practically shoot out of her head. Of course. The way she was looking at Sherlock, she didn't look like one for sentiment, but it made perfect sense. she loved to play games.

"Of course!" Ramona almost shouts. Sherlock raises an eyebrow and then cottons on to her.

"Yes, they do, don't they? Very silly." He gets to his feet and takes the camera phone out of the x-ray machine. "She sent this to my address. Loves to play games."

"She does?" Ramona cringes at Molly's dire situation. It was like Sherlock literally used her as a doormat. Used her to get in to somewhere, and then forgot about her until he had to come back in. Ramona watches his long fingers type in exactly what she was thinking. 221B. The phone beeps and comes up with a warning message. They both sigh in unison and share a disappointed look, sitting back down. Molly looks between the two and furrows her brow.

"B-by any chance, are you two related?" Ramona and Sherlock sigh again, Ramona lets her forehead fall onto the table in exasperation. She hears the detective chuckle and smiles to herself.

* * *

She found herself back in her flat with the two in love idiots. They were flirting as well. She picks up her guitar and starts strumming thoughtlessly. There could only be one password, and it had to do with Sherlock. She knew it.

"So what are you going to do for your birthday Ray?"

"Hm? Oh, my birthday?" Hannah nods incredulously. "What month is it?" Hannah's eyes widen. "I mean now."

"That's just as bad!" Hannah cried.

"September?"

"Yes..." Hannah shook her head at her friend.

"Ah, next month then. I'll probably just, stay in. Yeah, I don't really want anything big."

"Yes you do."

"Hannah-"

"If I arrange it, and everyone pays for themselves, will you partake in it?" Ramona sighs, defeated, and nods.

"Good."

* * *

Ramona woke up startled by Hannah pouncing onto her bed, causing her to fall out completely. "OI!"

"HAPPY BIRTHDAY TO YOU, HAPPY BIRTHDAY TO YOU, HAPPY BIRTHDAY DEAR RAYYYYYYY, HAPPY BIRTHDAY TO YOU!" Her best friend beamed so hard she thought that any moment now the sun was going to emerge from within her teeth. Hannah quickly sprung off the bed and pulled each of the blinds up sharply, revealing a city just waking up.

"It's 8am, and a Saturday!"

"You have to enjoy your birthday. You're 23!"

Ramona moaned. "Filler year."

Hannah rolled her eyes, and grabbed her friends ankles. "Get up or I'll drag you."

"then you'll have to do just that." She folded her arms. And then the dragging began. Ramona started into hysterics as she tried to claw at the wood floor, Hannah later collapsed in guffaws, clutching her stomach. Harry came in, with bed hair and boxers on, yawning.

"What are you doing?"

Hannah pointed to Ramona, giggling on the floor, and burst out into laughter again. Harry rolled his eyes and went back to bed, leaving the two girls to their antics.

Ramona sat at the kitchen table eating breakfast, watching the news. "So, who've you invited to my meal, or whatever."

"we're going to a really nice restaurant, don't worry." That just made her worry even more. "I've invited Amber, Ellie, Toby, me and Harry, Sherlock and John."

"Wha- why did you invite Sherlock?"

"He's a close friend isn't he?"

"Well, no. I mean, I- I don't really know. But I'm betting you anything he doesn't turn up." She said, trying to hide disappointment in her voice. _I mean, Sherlock? At a restaurant? Its not like he'd ever have to change, He's always in that suit, and a tight shirt- _

"Well then he's missing out. Toby said he couldn't wait. You two are so meant to be together." Ramona raised an eyebrow at her oblivious friend. "I mean, how cute are you two? And he's rich, and you'd have really pretty babies and-"

"Hannah!"

"What?" Ramona shook her head and looked into her bowl of cereal, mortified. Hannah turns back to the hob, and giggles as Harry hugs her from behind and murmurs something into her ear. The girl rolls her eyes and stares at the television screen.

Ramona anxiously pulls on a floral dress and stares at herself in a full length mirror. Hannah had bought it for her, and she did say it looked amazing on her. But she was her friend, and that's what friends are supposed to do. It was very booby. there was a lot of that on display. Not too much, but still. She stares at herself, until Hannah knocks and takes a long look at her.

"You look stunning!" Ramona sighs and smiles at her friend. "You ready?" She nods hesitantly.

The Italian restaurant was beautiful and admittedly, she liked that Hannah had taken her. Ellie, Amber, and Toby were already there. Harry had his arm wrapped around Hannah's waist protectively, which Ramona liked. Maybe she was warming up to him. A little.

"Hey!" "Hiya!"

"Hi guys!" Amber and Ellie took turns to hug Ramona. She turned to Toby.

"You look great!" He kissed her on the cheek going in for a hug, taking her by surprise. She laughed nervously. "Thanks Toby."

She pulled out of the hug, smiling at the boy. Sherlock and John turned around the corner, The detectives smirk falling as he saw the two embracing. Ramona turned around, spotting them. "John! Sherlock!"

John gave her a friendly hug, and Sherlock looked away. Ramona shared a look with John. She turned to Sherlock. "Hello." She smiled, almost nervously. He took a quick look at her, and pulled her into a bit-too-tight-to-be-friendly hug. He glared at Toby over Ramona's shoulder, who was watching the two anxiously as everyone else conversed between themselves.

They pulled out of the hug. "Hello, Ramona." He gave a smile that made Ramona's knees feel weak.

Ramona sat at the round table, all of the attention leading her to feel important. Sherlock had basically pushed Toby out of the way to sit on her left side, Hannah on her right. Next to Hannah was Harry, next to him was Amber, Then Ellie. Opposite the birthday girl was Toby, and next to him, John.

The night was filled with a lot of laughter, and very embarrassing stories about Ramona. She could definitely feel her cheeks heat as she moaned, putting her face to her hands, upon hearing Hannah start the story about where she went into th school cafeteria, her jumper latched to a cleaning up trolley, and it then fell, spilling food and drinks all over her, all the time whist waving to her crush. It was one of the most embarrassing moments of her life. Everyone started laughing and Ramona started laughing too. She then decided to start telling a story about Hannah.

"Right so, no guys, listen listen." They were admittedly a little drunk. "Right, so, when Hannah first saw Harry, she was all like, 'I'm going to go talk to him, he's gorgeous.'" She did a very animated Hannah impressions. there were a few giggles. "She struts over, trying to play it cool or sommet, and Harry, he's sat at his desk, and she's walking over, and she trips over her own foot, face-plants onto the edge of the desk, and gets a massive nosebleed all over him." There are massive guffaws of laughter as Harry laughs and hugs Hannah. "And hes bloody mortified, like, like this!" She pulls a mortified look, like she'd just seen Satan. everyone breaks into hysterics.

She takes a forkful of her pasta. Sherlock watches her, and Ramona freezes mid chew, startled by his predatory gaze. Everyone else chatters away. She swallows. "What?"

"Nothing."

"its obviously not nothing."

"Am I not allowed to look at you?"

"Not like that!" She hisses.

He smiles. "Like what?"

"Like, like you're going to eat me or something!" He laughs. "So, got any further on the phone?"

"No such luck."

"I'm surprised she hasn't tried to contact you. The way she was looking at you-" She gasps, and the whole table stops to look at her. She smiles apologetically, and they turn back to their conversations. "I know it. The password. I know it. Of course. How could it have been anything else? Never thought she would be the type though. It's something you do in year seven."

"What is it?"

"Do you have it?"

"No, its at Baker Street."

She nods thoughtfully. "We'll do it when we get home."

Toby gets up and walks over to Ramona. "Fancy a quick cig?" She nods.

"We'll be two minutes." She says. Sherlock gets up.

"I'll come too."

John looks up at him, as confused as Ramona. "You don't smoke. you're quitting, Sherlock."

"No, I'm a social smoker John." He says it as if an obvious fact of life.

"Since when have you been a social anything?"

"I-" He practically glares at John. "You're right. I just wanted one." Sherlock sits down. "Thank you, John." He hisses through gritted teeth.

* * *

Ramona blows out smoke gently.

"So, are you and that Sherlock, are you..."

She laughs. "No, no. Definitely not."

Toby smiles. "Good."

Ramona's eyes widen at the sort-of-declaration of him wanting to go out with her. She laughs nervously. "What am I supposed to say to that?"

"You say; It's funny you should say that because I'd be glad if I thought you were going out with someone that wasn't me and you actually weren't."

She raises her eyebrows and laughs at his audacity. "Alright, and what do you say after that?"

He drops his cigarette and steps on it, almost passive aggressively. "I say this." He paces over to her and pins her to the wall with his hips, before pressing his lips onto hers. She reels and kisses him back, dropping her cigarette as he puts his hands on her waist. He hesitantly pulls back and smiles. "I've been wanting to do that for a while now." She smiles, and for some reason, agrees.

They walk back into the restaurant, and the first thing she saw was Sherlock sulking. He looks up at the two suspiciously, and then closes his eyes, sighs, and glares at his empty plate. She smiles at Toby as they sit down. Everyone talked rather loudly, as Ramona and Sherlock sat in silence. She was sure that he knew what had just happened, and she didn't know what to say.

"W- whats wrong?" He didn't look up from what must have been to interesting on his plate.

"Nothing." He answers shortly.

"You sure?"

"I think I am aware of my own emotions, Ramona." He spits. She raises her eyebrows, holding her hands up.

"Alright, alright." There was a pause.

"So, what happened outside?" Her eyes widened.

"We just smoked and went back inside." He rolled his eyes and his eyes darted to meet hers.

"The time it takes you to have a cigarette is around three minutes twenty seconds, that was six minutes fourty two seconds. Also, you two were way too excited to just have smoked."

She sighed. "Do you never take a break?"

"Can't." He folded his arms and started to join in on a conversation between Harry and John.

_Why do I feel like I've hurt him somehow? He's not... He wouldn't be- Sherlock Holmes is never Jealous. He just doesn't approve of Toby. But who would he approve of?_

* * *

**Toby y u do dis -.- **

**there was a lot of time difference in this, I hope its okay**

**thank you sosososo much for reading and reviewing, it means the world :)**


	13. She's Thunderstorms

**She's thunderstorms**

I don't own Sherlock unfortunately :(

* * *

Ramona walked down the aisle of cereals, trying to pick the best one. To her close friends, it was a well known fact she was a breakfast fanatic, and was one of the only reasons she got up in the morning. She switched the song playing through her earphones, and Oasis came on. She happily hummed along to the song that she'd hear about a million times, as she picked up a box of special k. The girl admittedly loved being in her own company, as she was so much more fun to be with than practically anyone. '_If you're lonely when you're alone you're in bad company' Some quote from somewhere. _She smiled at a baby sat in a trolley, and as the mother turned around, she started making funny faces at the baby, crossing her eyes and giving herself an embarrassing double chin. She started to giggle with the baby and then turned back around to pick some porridge for Hannah, which she was personally disgusted at. She smiled to herself and started humming again quietly, until she felt a tap on her shoulder. Ramona turned around to see Sherlock, holding back a chuckle. She felt her cheeks light on fire and she looked around for John, who didn't seem to be there.

"H- how long have you been standing there?" She asks the amused detective timidly.

"Long enough to see how many chins you really have." He remarked, smiling.

She gaped at herself and spun around quickly to look at the cereal fast enough for him to not see her so embarrassed. "Don't you have enough cereal?" He raised an eyebrow. She decided to change the subject.

"I'll buy as much cereal as I want, thanks." She turned back around to meet his eyes. "Now, what were you so miffed about last night?"

"What?"

"Why were you so... short with me?"

"You were getting boring, like people always do. Try not to take it personally." He looked away to look around, disinterested.

The girl felt her face begin to fall. She rolled her eyes. "You're getting annoying, like you always do. Try not to take it personally." Admittedly, Sherlock's words had hurt, and he was never annoying, just harsh.

"You're lying." He said, as if as obvious as gravity.

"I-" She saw John and rushed to him. "Please John, try and keep your partner under control. He's being very annoying."

John gave both of them a disapproving look. "First of all, Sherlock, try to not upset the neighbors. Secondly, I am not gay!"

Ramona started giggling, and gave him a look that said 'you don't have to lie to me' and held up her hands as if in surrender. "Whatever you say, John." She turns to Sherlock. "Now what are you doing shopping? I thought you hated this sort of stuff."

He shrugs. "I got bored. No cases." He looks down at both of the peoples baskets. "You're both done now anyway, lets go."

John invited her in for a cup of tea, and Ramona happily agreed. As they both walked in at the same time, Ramona sniffed the air discreetly and caught a woman's scent, coming from... _Sherlock's bedroom? It smells like, like... Where have I smelled that before? _She thinks back, and drops her bags as she runs to Sherlock's bedroom. Sherlock sprints behind her. "A bit too keen aren't you?" John mutters under his breath as he walks behind them to see what all the fuss was about.

"John?"

"Yeah?"

"We have a client." Sherlock said, smiling at the sleeping form of Irene Adler in his bed. Ramona hated that he liked that sight, and really wished she wasn't there.

* * *

The girl sits in Sherlock's chair, staring at the woman in John's, feeling dwarfed in just about every aspect. She had just taken a shower, her hair was damp for gods sake, and she still felt like susan boyle being compared to Beyonce. It wasn't fair. She had such perfect skin and nose and lips and everything, even her body. Ramona intensely frowned out of the window as she sits on the couch feeling disdain at herself. Sherlock kept looking between them, and she couldn't help thinking he felt the same way. Right now she would happily jump out of the window she was pouting out of. She crosses her legs and starts to talk.

"So, who's after you."

"People that want to kill me."

"And who's that?"

"Killers." Irene smirked as Ramona tensed, praying she wouldn't roll her eyes.

"It would hep if you could be a tiny bit more specific."

Sherlock spoke up."So you faked your own death in order to get ahead of them."

"It worked for a while." Irene shrugged.

"Except you let John know that you were alive, and therefore Ramona and me." Ramona was confused as to why he said her name first.

" I knew you'd keep my secret."

"You couldn't." He said.

"But you did, didn't you? Where's my camera phone?"

"It's not here. We're not stupid." Answered John.

"Then what have you done with it? If they've guessed you've got it, they'll be watching you."

"If they've been watching me, they'll know that I took a safety deposit box at a bank on the Strand a few months ago." Ramona sighed at the fact they hadn't bothered to tell her. Or was he lying?

"I need it." She said shortly.

"Well, we can't just go and get it, can we?" Added John. He looks round to Sherlock, like he'd figured out the meaning of life.

"Molly Hooper. She could collect it, take it to Bart's; then one of your homeless network could bring it here, leave it in the café, and one of the boys downstairs could bring it up the back."

Sherlock smiles. "Very good, John. Excellent plan, with intelligent precautions."

John looks as proud as a toddler that just learnt to read. "Thank you."He picks up his phone." So, why don't" Sherlock takes the camera phone out from his jacket pocket and holds it up. "Oh, for ..." Sherlock inspects the phone as Irene stands up.

"So what do you keep on here – in general, I mean?" Ramona inspects the phone from her seat. Instantly she knows its a fake._ It'd be heavier and his hands would be in a different position, good thinking, but there's no way she'll fall for that. _

"Pictures, information, anything I might find useful."

"What, for blackmail?" John questions.

"For protection. I make my way in the world; I misbehave. I like to know people will be on my side exactly when I need them to be."

"So how do you acquire this information?" Asks Ramona, interested.

"I misbehave." She now fights the urge to roll her eyes at the cheesy line.

"But you've acquired something that's more danger than protection. Do you know what it is?"

"Yes, but I don't understand it." Irene admits.

"I assumed. Show me." Sherlock doesn't ask, he tells. Irene holds out her hand for the phone. Sherlock holds it up out of her reach.

"The pass-code." She continues to hold her hand out, and eventually Sherlock sits forward and hands her the phone. Activating it and holding it so he can't see the screen or the keypad, she types in four characters. The phone beeps a warning.

"It's not working." Irene pulls a fake frown. Ramona smiles, liking that there are two women in the world so far who can outsmart Sherlock Holmes.

Sherlock takes the phone from her. "No, because it's a duplicate that I had made, into which you've just entered the numbers one oh five eight." He walks over to Ramona.

"If you'd like to look under the pillow you're sitting on." He tells Ramona.

She stands up and takes the phone, eyes once again having to fight not to roll.

"Look, she didn't buy that for a second. She put in a fake code, obviously."

Sherlock frowned in confusion, that turned to indifference. "No, she did. Give it here and I'll prove you wrong."

"She didn't. The weight from the," She turns to Irene. "Explosives, was it?" Irene frowns a fake frown. "Well, its her camera phone. And it doesn't matter, because I've worked out the pass-code."

Sherlock sighs as if dealing with a toddler. "No, you haven't. I haven't, so there's no way you have." He snatches it from her. Ramona folds her arms, and waits for the warning beep, that comes after Sherlock types in the wrong password. He stares in complete disbelief.

"I told you that camera phone was my life. I know when it's in my hand. As your protege said." She smiled.

He turns to Irene who walks closer, smiling at him."Oh, you're rather good."

"You're not so bad." She smiles seductively. She holds her hand out again and takes the phone from him. The pairs eyes become locked in what can only be described as intense eye-sex. Ramona feels her stomach curl around her and has several different visions that all include Irene dying in a very painful situation. John and Ramona share a frowning look at the pair.

"Hamish or Coralie." Ramona blurts out, grinning at John. the pair break out of their apparent eye foreplay to frown at her.

"Ramona Coralie Doherty and John Hamish Watson – just if you were looking for baby names." Sherlock gives her a very deep-set frown.

"There was a man – an MOD official. I knew what he liked." Ramona hoped she'd never know what Sherlock liked. _They aren't right together. He deserves someone... On his level. Oh my god, did I just quote Sherlock? I need to see a therapist... _Irene walks a short distance and types in a pass-code, the real pass-code, Ramona notes. "One of the things he liked was showing off. He told me this email was going to save the world. He didn't know it, but I photographed it." She hands the phone to Sherlock. Ramona wonders if she might be invisible. "He was a bit tied up at the time. It's a bit small on that screen – can you read it?"

Sherlock sits down on the other side of the table to John and narrows his eyes at the photograph. All Ramona sees is the numbers:

4C12C45F13E13G60A60B61F34G34J60D12H33K34K

She frowns as she looks over the detectives shoulders. "A code, obviously. I had one of the best cryptographers in the country take a look at it – though he was mostly upside down, as I recall. Couldn't figure it out."

Sherlock leans forward, concentrating on the screen.

"What can you do, Mr Holmes? She leans over his other shoulder, and Ramona suppressed the need to glare.

"Go on. Impress a girl." Ramona feels a blur of numbers race through her as Irene goes to kiss his cheek. Her eyes grow to the size of moons as she realises what it is. Before Irene can get to the working detective, she snatches the phone.

"DON'T HAVE TO!" Before Irene can reach Sherlock, she snaps up to frown at the girl along with Sherlock and John. She smiles apologetically, as words fly out of her mouth as fast a bullets. "Sorry about that, tend to shout when i get" Her eyes dart to Sherlock. "Excited." His jaw drops, and then quickly curiousity pulls it back up. "I'm pretty sure there's a Seven Forty-Seven leaving Heathrow tomorrow at six thirty in the evening for Baltimore. Apparently it's going to save the world. Not sure how that can be true but give me a moment; I've only been on the case for eight seconds." Sherlock is sat, speechless, in his chair. "Sorry, did I steal your thunder? The only thing is-"

"But, how could you possibly-"

" Oh, It's not code. These are seat allocations on a passenger jet. Look." She shows the screen to John. "There's no letter 'I' because it can be mistaken for a '1'; no letters past 'K' – the width of the plane is the limit. The numbers always appear randomly and not in sequence but the letters have little runs of sequence all over the place – families and couples sitting together. Only a Jumbo is wide enough to need the letter 'K' or rows past fifty-five, which is why there's always an upstairs. There's a row thirteen, which eliminates the more superstitious airlines. Then there's the style of the flight number – zero zero seven – that eliminates a few more; and assuming a British point of origin, which would be logical considering the original source of the information and assuming from the increased pressure on you lately that the crisis is imminent, the only flight that matches all the criteria and departs within the week is the six thirty to Baltimore tomorrow evening from Heathrow Airport."

Irene gazes at her with admiration. "I would have you right here on this desk until you begged for mercy twice." She stares up at the woman, still in thought.

"Maybe not, Irene." Her face falls as she walks away.

"Y-you were right."

"Hm?"

"You were right. Flight double oh seven."

Ramona's head snaps to Sherlock's, as he did the same. "Where have I heard that before?" Sherlock starts to pace, whilst Ramona clicks her fingers.

"JESUS!" Everyone in the room jumps.

"Could you stop doing that, please?" Asks John politely.

"Do you want me to stop saving England?" She asks.

"Have you done it before?" John frowns.

"I'm assuming I'll do it again." Ramona shrugs.

Sherlock paces to Ramona and puts his hands on her shoulders. "Bond air."

She smiles. "Bond air is go."

* * *

Ramona lies on the floor next to the fire, eyes closed, deadly still, trying to think, whilst Sherlock watches her every move intently. Irene sits, curled, in Johns chair, watching him. "Coventry." Sherlock blurts out. Before Ramona can respond, Irene gets there.

"I've never been. Is it nice?"

"Wheres John?"

"He left hours ago. He said you do that." She smiles at him.

"It's a story, probably not true. In the Second World War, the Allies knew that Coventry was going to get bombed because they'd broken the German code but they didn't want the Germans to know that they'd broken the code, so they let it happen anyway."

Irene basically ignores him. "Have you ever had anyone?" Ramona realises she thinks she's asleep, and fights a smirk playing on her lips.

Sherlock frowns at her blankly. "Sorry?"

"When I say had, I'm being indelicate."

"I don't understand."

"Well, I'll be delicate then." Irene gets up from her chair, walks over to Sherlock and kneels in front of him, putting her left hand on top of his right hand and curling her fingers around it.

"Let's have dinner." She says.

"Why?" Ramona wonders if he really is from another planet, and if he thinks she's asleep.

"Might be hungry."

"I'm not."

"Good." Sherlock hesitantly sits forward a little and slowly turns his right hand over, curling his own fingers around her wrist.

"Why would I want to have dinner if I wasn't hungry?" Slowly Irene begins to lean forward, her gaze fixed on his lips. Ramona does not like where this is going. He puts his fingers on the underside of her wrist and Ramona smirks, realising what he's doing.

"Oh, Mr Holmes..." Ramona decides she's had enough. She springs to life, on her feet like a cat.

"First off, he's taking your pulse. He knows you fancy him. Secondly, I know the password, so don't push your luck." Sherlock looks at her in confusion. "Wait, no, no, I didn't mean it like that, I- forget that I said that. What I'm saying, is that any moment now, they're going to be two geniuses that know the pass-code to you're lifeline, or something. Also, Coventry, you're not right. They're doing the exact opposite. Hopefully. Just a theory really."

"What do you mean?"

Ramona opens her mouth to speak, but is interrupted by Mrs Hudson. "Sherlock!"

Sherlock turns to Ramona to tell her what he has deduced. "There's going to be a bomb on a passenger jet. The British and American governments know about it but rather than expose the source of that information they're going to let it happen. The plane will blow up. Coventry all over again. The wheel turns. Nothing is ever new."

"Completely wrong."

"What?!" Ramona notices the driver grin for a second and then snap back to emotionless.

"Come on, it's been staring you in the face."

"Just tell me?" There was a pause. "Please?"

"That would take the fun out of things though, wouldn't it?" She smiled as he scowled.

They are taken to Heathrow, a jumbo jet parked outside, . As they go to board the airplane stairs, she recognises her American attacker. Sherlock smiles smugly, putting on a deliberately fake American accent. "Well, you're lookin' all better. How ya feelin'?" He walks halfway up the stairs, followed loosely by Ramona.

"Like putting a bullet in your little friends brain, and making you watch... Sir." He smirked at her and glared at him. Sherlock started toward him with fury, and as he passed Ramona, she went to grab his arm, but accident got his gloved hand. He froze and turned to look at her questioningly. She shook her head at him, and remembered to let go awkwardly. He clenched his jaw and followed her.

Now inside, he pulls back the curtain obscuring the passenger seating and walks into the aisle. The lighting is very low and it's hard to see. There are people sitting in almost all the seats but none of them is moving or speaking or showing any signs of life at all. Ramona realises she was right and decides to stop breathing through her nose. Frowning, he walks forward and looks more closely at the nearest passengers. An overhead light shows more clearly the faces of two men sitting beside each other and Sherlock now realises the truth: they are dead. Although they're not yet showing any signs of decomposition, their skin is very grey and they've clearly been dead for some time. He turns and looks to the passengers on the other side of the aisle, turning on another overhead light to get a better view. The man and woman sitting there are also long dead. He straightens up, realising that everyone on board the plane must be in the same condition. Sherlock gives Ramona a 'really' look, and she just nods.

"The Coventry conundrum." She and Sherlock turns to see Mycroft pushing back the curtain and stepping through into the cabin. He talks softly. "What do you think of my solution?" Ramona thinks that Sherlock might still taking it all in.

She speaks up "The flight of the dead."

"The plane blows up mid-air. Mission accomplished for the terrorists. Hundreds of casualties, but nobody dies."

"Neat, don't you think?" Sherlock smiles sarcastically at his brother.

" You've been stumbling round the fringes of this one for ages – or were you too bored to notice the pattern? We ran a similar project with the Germans a while back, though I believe one of our passengers didn't make the flight."

"But that's the deceased for you – late, in every sense of the word." Ramona tries not to laugh at this. He should seriously consider pursuing a career in comedy.

"How's the plane going to fly?" He answers himself immediately. "Of course: unmanned aircraft. Hardly new."

"It doesn't fly. It will never fly. This entire project is cancelled. The terrorist cells have been informed that we know about the bomb. We can't fool them now. We've lost everything. One fragment of one email, and months and years of planning finished."

"Your MOD man." Sherlock says.

"That's all it takes: one lonely naïve man desperate to show off, and a woman clever enough to make him feel special."

Sherlock quirks an eyebrow. "Hmm. You should screen your defence people more carefully."

"I'm not talking about the MOD man, Sherlock; I'm talking about you." Shouts Mycroft, suddenly furious. He slams the tip of his umbrella on the floor. Sherlock frowns, genuinely confused. "The damsel in distress." He smiles ironically. "In the end, are you really so obvious? Because this was textbook: the promise of love, the pain of loss, the joy of redemption; then give him a puzzle ... "His voice drops to a whisper while he twirls the end of his umbrella in the air." ... and watch him dance."

"Don't be absurd."

"Absurd? How quickly did you decipher that email for her? Was it the full minute, or were you really eager to impress?"

"Actually, it was the girl." Irene Adler comes out of the darkness from behind Sherlock.

"Mr Holmes, I think we need to talk." She struts down the airplane as if a runway.

"So do I. There are a number of aspects I'm still not quite clear on."

"Not you, Junior. You're done now." Ramona feels her blood boil at Sherlock's expression. She felt like making her one of the passengers on board. Irene continues down the aisle towards Mycroft. Sherlock turns and watches her go as she activates her phone and holds it up to show his brother. "There's more ... loads more. On this phone I've got secrets, pictures and scandals that could topple your whole world. You have no idea how much havoc I can cause and exactly one way to stop me – unless you want to tell your masters that your biggest security leak is your own little brother."

Mycroft looks down at his feet, unable to hold her gaze. His whole body language screaming defeated. Ramona's eyes light up so bright they could light the plane for a second. "Unfortunately for you, that isn't happening."

"Sorry?" Ramona snatches the phone once again from her long fingers and brings up the lock screen.

"I told you, I know the password."

Irene looks smug at this. "That's why I did this." She points to the screen. "You have one go." She smiles and turns to Mycroft. "Are you really willing to bet possible lives of British citizens on a cocky girl?"

"The explosive won't stop me."

"But it might stop you from wearing rings ever again." She smiles and pulls a sarcastic pout. Sherlock grabs the phone faster then anything Ramona thinks she's ever seen.

"I'll type it in." Everyone frowns in confusion. "I- I mean, this is my fault. If it's dangerous, it's my danger."

"Actually no, it's my fault." More confusion in the cabin, whilst she puts out her hand for the phone. "I deciphered the code. This- this wouldn't be a waste without me getting involved. Let me make up for that."

Sherlock stares at her and blinks twice. "No."

She quickly pinches his inner arm until he drops the phone, letting her catch it two inches from the ground. Any panic Irene may have, she hides well. "Love is a strange thing, isn't it, Miss Adler?" Irene's jaw drops and her eyes begin to resemble little blue globes. "Sentiment as well- I personally never thought you had it in you. The Holmes brothers have it right when they say that these things are found in the losing side. This happens to be you today, Miss Adler." Tears slip down her cheek. "The truth is, you could have walked away successful today if you had put in a random code. Could have. But the thing is, you give yourself away. What you weren't counting on was me watching your pupils dilate, and him taking your pulse. I really hate to do this, we could have been friends." Ramona said, genuinely sad that the woman chose to use her power for evil. She slowly typed in the letters 'S H E R'. The second between her entering the 'R' and the camera phone put everyone's heart in their throat, but put Sherlock's in his mouth. Ramona handed the camera phone to Mycroft. "Here. Should be everything on there." She backed away until her back hit Sherlock, and as she went to walk forward, a leather clad hand grabbed her shoulder, so she stayed.

* * *

Ramona stood on the runway, the wind blowing her hair behind her, her hands in her coat pockets. As they approached the car, Mycroft stopped her. "I underestimated you, greatly."

She quirked an eyebrow. "You didn't, trust me."

"No, I did." He tapped the tip of his umbrella on the tarmac. "I thought you were fine as my brothers friend, but he already has those. Join my government. The pay is high, and as far as I can tell, it'll be an easy job for you to do."

"What... role would I play in your government?"

"A detective, but getting a different identity and location every time, and you pass all information you find on to me."

"So a spy."

"Spy is such an ugly word."

Admittedly, this appealed to Ramona greatly. It had always been a massive fanstasy of hers to become some sort of international super spy. She looked behind her to the car, and more importantly, to Sherlock. He was watching them. The six foot detective's hair fell perfectly after the slight wind stopped, the shadows playing on his face. She knew then. She knew she couldn't leave him. Or her life here. But more importantly, him. She didn't know how he coped living on his own, and dreaded to think what would happen once John moved out and Mrs Hudson... She couldn't. Ramona turned back around to the detective brother. "Thanks, but no thanks." She smiled.

"Tell my brother that you're smarter than him, should he ever say otherwise. I will stand behind that."

She laughs. "Until next time, Mycroft."

* * *

She makes her way to the car, where Sherlock is waiting. "You took your time." He said shortly as they got in the car and began to drive off."What did he want?"

"Asking if I wanted a job."

He tensed beside her. "Did you take it?"

"Of course not." He let out a long breath he forgot he was holding, and realised it must of been very loud. She laughed like music. "I would of said not to hold your breath, but..." He poked her gently in the ribs, making her laugh and squirm as she poked him harder. He watched her laugh playfully, and realised he may of formed some sort of connection to this woman. A connection he couldn't bring himself to cut.

* * *

**ahhh this was so cute to write eeek**

**sorry if its getting too cutesy, just tell me in the reviews if you want it to be more gritty or something :)**

**I enjoyed writing this so much I wrote it in one sitting lol oops**

**thank you so much for reading and reviewing, it really makes my day :D**


	14. The Hellcat Spangled Shalala

**The Hellcat Spangled Shalalala**

**I own nothing!**

* * *

"So why didn't you take it?!" Hannah asks, who had been enthralled by Ramona's recollection of what had happened.

"What?"

"The job, with that Miccleroy guy." Ramona throws back her head and guffaws, leaving a confused Hannah to sip some tea and settle back into the couch.

"It's Mycroft, Hannah." She shakes her head, slightly gigging. "Well, I suppose I kind of like my life at the moment. I don't want to upset things." Hannah nods slowly in thought. Ramona starts to walk around the apartment aimlessly.

"What are you wearing to this press thingy then?" Hannah loved asking questions.

"Just jeans probably." Ramona shrugs.

"I should hope not!" Hannah widens her eyes in feigned shock. They both laugh.

"Well, I personally don't want to go." Hannah frowned in confusion at the girl. "Well, you've seen the title the papers have been giving me." She peered at a paper on the table. The headline read 'Partners, in more than one way?' She sighed and walked away to sit back in her armchair, taking the paper with her.

"Well, it does seem that way." Ramona gives her death glare. "I- I mean, the press can blow anything out of proportion, two people of the opposite gender sit decide to sit opposite instead of beside each other and they'll call it a 'lovers quarrel of the century', give it the front page and a pull out. It's nothing to worry about." Ramona read the first few lines.

**Sherlock Holmes, a.k.a The Hat Detective, has been seen working on cases with another addition to his posse. However, the relationship looks much more romantic than work-based, as the young girl- who looks nothing short of gorgeous- (see page 12 for her look)...**

Ramona rolled her eyes into the back of her skull as she tried hard not to scream at the idiotic press.

"This is the most sexist thing I've ever seen." Hannah frowned in confusion.

She stands up and starts pacing in front of Hannah.

"Oh come on! Me and Sherlock found the kidnapper together, I worked just as hard as him, to get the same result, so why am I described as part of his 'posse', and why have they said anything about how i look? Or about my 'look'?"

She makes speech marks with her fingers in the air.

"I'm not mentioned once for my skills, or how I'm equal to Sherlock! Is that all women are ever seen for? Their exterior?!"

She shouts the last bit in her friends face. She instantly regrets that, seeing her grimace uncomfortably, and sighs, massaging her temples.

"I'm sorry, I just... All the tabloids have really taken a toll on Toby and I."

Hannah shoots up from out of her seat. "Toby and you? Toby and you?!" She starts clapping with delight. "You're going out with him?"

Ramona frowns.

"Well, yeah."

"This is wonderful news!"

"Chill out Hannah, I'm not getting married."

"You will be soon though!" Hannah enters a dreamy state. "Oh, imagine, A beautiful white dress, me as head bridesmaid, of course. The big diamond on your ha-"

"Shut up Hannah! Please, oh my god please shut up! Please!" Ramona cries at the deflated girl. "I'm not getting married for gods sake! And probably not to Toby! I'm twenty bloody three Hannah! Just because you and Harry are-"

"We're getting married." Hannah blurted out.

Ramona felt as if she had just taken a one-inch punch.

"Y-you're, what?"

"We're going to get married."

Ramona stumbles to find a seat. "I- You can't! Not now! How are you going to get money? What are you going to do, have a baby? I thought you wanted to be a nurse!? What are you going to do? Put your dream on hold to get married? This isn't the eighteen hundred-"

"Not right now you numb-skull." Relief poured into Ramona. "In two years. He's going to officially propose next year, when he moves to London, and then, we can get married, and I'll-"

"Please, don't."

"And I'll move out." Hannah almost whispered.

Ramona sat in silence, staring at the turned off television for five seconds. She was shell shocked to say the least.

She calculated it was around five minutes until John came to tell her he'd called a taxi to Scotland yard, so she decided to grab her coat and storm out, and into their flat, without saying a word. Hannah watched her leave with sad eyes.

She watched the famous rotating Scotland yard sign outside, waiting for the boys to catch up. She feels Sherlock behind her.

"Tell me again why I'm here?" Ramona asks.

He shrugs.

"They asked, and you're polite. Always a mistake, in my opinion." She frowns.

"Let's just get this over and done with. I swear to God if they ask any questions about me and you I'm gonna go mental."

She hears John laugh behind her as they set off again into the building.

Ramona stands in between John and Sherlock, trying to remain calm. There was around a 52% chance that she was going to fuck this up somehow.

"Peter Ricoletti: number one on Interpol's Most Wanted list since 1982. But we got him; and there's two people we have to thank for giving us the decisive leads... with all his customary diplomacy and tact!" Her and Sherlock smiles insincerely towards Greg while John leans closer to Sherlock and speaks quietly.

John leans in to speak to them quietly.

"Sarcasm."

"Yes." answers Sherlock shortly. As the press applaud, Greg walks over to Sherlock and Ramona, handing them both wrapped gifts.

"We all chipped in." Although his smile is sincere for her, it is quite the opposite for Sherlock.

He tears open the wrapping paper, and Ramona realises Sally and Anderson are grinning expectantly. He pulls out a deerstalker hat. Ramona holds in a laugh, making her body shake.

Sherlock trie to smile, which is probably the first for him in front of Sally and Anderson.

"Oh!"

"Put the hat on!" "Put the hat on!" The reporters shout from the audience.

"Yeah, Sherlock, put it on!" Enthuses Lestrade sarcastically. Sherlock glares at the reporter which can only be described as a death stare.

"Just get it over with." Murmurs John.

She was starting to think he was Sherlock's only hope of people not finding out what he was like. Glowering at him, Sherlock shoves the wrapping paper into his hands, then unhappily puts the hat on his head, the cameras instantly going mad.

Ramona starts to laugh as applause reaches her ears. He glares at her jokingly at first, and then starts to chuckle with her, or at her.

As they were leaving the building, reporters started swarming them.

"Could we have a few questions?" Ramona frowns in confusion, as she realises the question is directed at her.

"Depends what they're about." She smiles.

"Is it true that you and Sherlock Holmes are together?" She looks to them incredulously, almost rolling her eyes, but remembering how unflattering it looked in pictures, as it had been a prime pose for her in her early adolescent days.

"I'd like for it to be known, that in no way are we going out. Ramona Doherty and Sherlock Holmes are purely platonic, nothing more or less. You can all just get that out of your head right now."

"How were you introduced to Sherlock?"

She smiles.

"Neighbours."

Suddenly she came under fire of a thousand more question. She laughed at the flashes of the cameras. This was definitely no what she expected when she moved down here. What a pleasant surprise.

* * *

She walks into the boys flat to the sounds of Sherlock ranting and stomping.

"Boffin. Boffin Sherlock Holmes".

Ramona laughs as she sits down at the table, reading the Daily Star he had just thrown onto it.

"Everybody gets one." She states absentmindedly.

"One what?"

"Tabloid nickname: 'SuBo'; 'Nasty Nick'. Shouldn't worry– We'll probably get them soon." John adds.

"I already do!" She juts out her bottom lip in annoyance, folding her arms. "'girlfriend', by the look of it." She shakes her head. "Bachelor John Watson." Ramona giggles at what they were trying to imply.

"What?" She passes him the paper, tapping at the sentence with a slim index finger.

Sherlock goes over to the fireplace, picks up the deerstalker, holds it up and punches it angrily.

"Why is it always the hat photograph?" Sherlock complains.

"Bachelor John Watson?" He looks incredulously from the article to Ramona, making her grin.

"What sort of hat is it anyway?" He looks at it as if he was afraid any moment now it would eat him.

"Bachelor? What the hell are they implying? If you're his girlfriend and I'm a bachelor?"

"Is it a cap? Why has it got two fronts?" Ramona glances up briefly.

"It's a deerstalker."

She looks down and then back up again, walking to stand opposite him.

"Frequently seen in the company of bachelor John Watson..."

"You stalk a deer with a hat? What are you gonna do– throw it?" He asks Ramona.

"...Confirmed bachelor John Watson!"

"Some sort of death frisbee?" He skims it through the air precisely, as Ramona only has to bend her wrist to catch it.

"I'd say... more of an Englishman's ninja star."

She throws it with a flick of her wrist quickly to Sherlock, and he catches it expertly. Ramona turns back slightly to John, her tone now more matter-of-fact.

"Seriously though, we have to be more careful. It's too much." She begins.

Sherlock frowns. "What do you mean, more careful?"

"You're supposed to be a private detective, right? Emphasis on the private bit? It won't stay like that for long."

John nods in agreement, as he holds his first finger and thumb in front of him an inch apart.

"You're this close to being famous- both of you." He laughs. "Couple of the week, case-solving, crime-busting, London-living boffins."

Ramona hangs her mouth open, appalled. Sherlock watches her reaction closely.

"Also, the press always turn. Always." She looks deadly serious. "And they'll turn on you. Sooner or later. They always do, and when that happens..." Ramona had visions of Sherlock being upset, and wanted to make sure they never came true. She shudders at the thought of him being desperately sad.

"Why do you care about what people say about me?"

"I-" She decides that even herself doesn't know the answer to that question. "They're also going to be talking about me. I have approximately 60 years left, and I really don't want to spend them being overcome with rumours."Sherlock shrugged.

"I'm going out, anything you two want from the shops?" Sherlock shook his head with Ramona.

Ramona opens John's laptop.

"Amber just texted me, telling me to google myself." Sherlock frowned in confusion.

She quickly tapped in her name, and suddenly, articles, mainly involving Sherlock, come up on the screen.

Her eyes grew to moons, then she groaned hopelessly, to which Sherlock stared at her with wide eyes, before clearing his throat.

"What?"

"They saw me and Toby together." He frowned in confusion. "Kissing." He clenched his jaw.

"Why does that matter?" He asked from his chair.

"They think we're together. Oh Jesus, he's gonna go absoloutely mad."

Sherlock bit back a grin until Ramona shot him a warning look, and he snapped out of it.

Her phone suddenly blows up in her pocket. She counted five texts from Toby and three more from Amber.

She texts Toby back that the press were lying, obviously, and that she was with him, obviously.

The texts from Amber said something about searching 'Ramlock' on google. She frowns in confusion, as she types it in.

Her jaw drops and she slowly leans back from the laptop screen.

"Er, Sherlock?"

"Yes."

"Do you know what a ship is?"He looks at her incredulously.

"A large boat for transporting people or goods by sea. Why?"

"People. People are doing that with us."

"What are you on exactly, Ramona?" He paces over to the table where she's sat, and looks over her shoulder to the laptop screen, eyes intent.

She almost heard his jaw drop.

"W- whats, Ramlock?"

"When people want two well known people together, they sometimes... Write fake stories about them or... Draw pictures of them." He scrolls down to read one of the stories.

She reads ahead and puts a hand over the screen.

"Woaah, that is definitely not PG 13." She frowns. "I'm not that slutty!" She said, as she reads the very innapropriate story. Sherlock laughed sharply. Ramona snapped round. "Don't laugh, apparently there's a smaller ship of... Johnlock!" Ramona starts to laugh hard, as she types it in, and results come up. There are tears in her eyes as she begins to go into such laughter that she thought she was going to die from suffocation.

Sherlock looks at her in such a way, she thought she would either get throttled or snogged. She hoped it would be neither, but secretly, she knew she wanted the latter.

Sherlock grabs the laptop and went back onto the tab of him and her, wanting her embarrassed. He started to read aloud as he held the laptop above Ramona's head, as she desperately tries to get it back.

"Ramona realised that in that moment, watching Sherlock's handsome features contort into a smile, that she loved him, wanted him. She wanted nothing more than him." Ramona began to feel her pulse in the back of her throat at his melodramatic reading.

"Sherlock, stop!"

"His cheekbones cut off the light of the streetlamp perfectly, and she had to look away in fear of taking him," Sherlock's words slowed as Ramona stilled. "Right there," He looked at her predator like. "Right then."

He looked down at her hands, that had been placed on the collar of his blue dressing gown. She dropped them awkwardly to her sides instantly.

Keeping eye contact, Sherlock put down the laptop, and Ramona felt like he was preparing himself, and she was waiting. He straightened in front of her, and before she could think, she was walking backwards to the bit of wall next to the window, until she almost winded herself, unexpectedly hitting the wall.

He walks towards her, blue eyes now black with fire. He walks so close to her, she thinks he might go straight through her.

He put his hands dangerously on her hips, and suddenly, gently, crashed his lips onto hers.

For a second, Ramona felt herself almost being lifted by his touch, before she grounded herself with her hands in his hair.

Although it started off gentle, His kisses became more rough and wanting.

Ramona realises he had started to dig his nails into her at a force that could make her grimace in pain.

Coming back to reality, it comes to her that she can hear John outside. They were always interrupted, that was for sure.

She gently put her hands on his chest, and tried to push him away softly, but he was obviously in some world of his own, as he refuses to move an inch away from her. Ramona tried to move her face to talk but she then remembers that she is in fact against a wall.

He moved to her neck, and she thought she might just melt into a puddle underneath his shoes.

"Sh- sher- Sherlock." She said shakily. He just chuckled darkly, knowing what he was doing. She started to hear footsteps, that he was obviously oblivious to. "Sher- Sherlock, John's coming." He sighed, but before stopping gave her a love-bite on her neck, that everyone would see. She could hide it from John, but Toby?

He knew exactly what he was doing.

But she didn't have a clue as to what she was doing. He walked away calmly, and Ramona was left by the wall, wondering as to what just happened, dazed.

"By the sounds you were making, I'd say you enjoyed that." She opened her mouth to snap back at him, but before she could John was there, all innocent and unknowing. He looked between the two before setting the bags down in the kitchen.

Sherlock moved to his chair and turned on the telly, as if nothing had happened. Maybe it hadn't. Maybe Ramona's need for him had gotten so strong that her mind was playing tricks on her she frowned in confusion.

She said goodbye to John in a strange haze, and as she left, Sherlock gave her a smirk, and she came to the conclusion it had not been her mind playing tricks on her, but Sherlock.

* * *

**Shit just went downnn**

**But the thing is, you all know what episode I'm doing. Brace yourselves!**

**Thank you so much for reading and reviewing, you're so lovely :)**


	15. Girl Afraid

**Girl Afraid**

I don't own Sherlock unfortunately :(

* * *

Ramona spent all night lying on her back, staring at the ceiling trying to comprehend what had happened. Sherlock hadn't quite been himself she supposes, but that was no excuse for his... outburst. And then no explanation? As the sun rose, and started to light her bedroom through her blinds, Ramona became angry. How dare he do that? Is she just some sort of toy? She turned onto her stomach and moaned exasperatedly, the noise only muffled by her pillow. The girl wanted to confront him, but how? Would he do it again? Would he deny it never happened?

She knocked on the door slowly, doubting whether this was the best idea. Mrs Hudson answered the door with a smile. "Hey." She smiled back at the kind woman.

"Hello deary, oh, do come in." She ushers the girl in. She enters to see Sherlock, holding a paper up to hide his face. John sits next to him at the table, greeting the girl and glaring at paper that refused to move to acknowledge her existence. She sat down at the table.

"Any new cases?"

"They were all deemed too boring for Sherlock." He gave the paper another dirty look. She nods, disappointed. Suddenly Johns phone springs to life, a common ringtone filling the flat. He holds up one finger, answers, and goes outside. Ramona waits for five seconds after he's gone to speak.

"Sherlock?"

He doesn't even look up from his newspaper, which she can tell he's not reading. "Yes."

"Are we going to talk about..." There's a silence that lasts about 10 seconds.

"Talk about what?" He puts down his newspaper.

"I... Are you really going to be like that?" She frowned angrily.

"What are you talking about, Ramona?"

"Last night." She said, gazing into the table, like she should be ashamed. Maybe she should be.

"I'm... Still not following." He frowned in confusion, and she began to think maybe he couldn't actually remember. Sighing, she pulled her polar neck down from her jumper, to reveal a purple mark on her neck. His eyes widened.

"You gave me this." His jaw dropped as he scrambled for his phone.

"You're saying this was last night?" He said, dialing a number as she nodded, her brow still furrowed with confusion.

"I have to make a call."

"What?" She asked incredulously. Had the doctor given him the wrong pills that gives him self-restraint? She rolled her eyes to herself and walked over to the window, looking over the familiar city landscape.

**Sherlock**

_What has that stupid man done now? Honestly, can't you get a decent double these days? Maybe without harassing my colleagues? But if he did that, and she let him, maybe even reciprocated... Did she? Or did he just do it anyway? _Both viable theories made Sherlock feel sick to his stomach. He wanted to murder him. _How dare he take her from me? What? Do I class her as mine now? Why am I constantly having these dis-pleasant feelings every time something like this happens? Why do people keep wanting to touch her? Can't they just... Stop? Is it that hard not to touch her? You know full well that it's one of the hardest things you have ever encountered, what about normal men? _Dread hangs onto every atom of him. The double finally picks up the phone.

"What is it?"

"You know, normally, people tend to greet each other politely, especially when one is paying another."

"Whatever, Sherlock. So, what you got for me?"

"A few things."

"Go on then."

"Firstly, Why has Ramona told me I apparently kissed her?!" He hisses quietly down the phone, careful not to alert anyone else of his situation.

"What? Mate, I thought you were going out like!" Sherlock rubs his temples with a thumb and forefinger.

"Take everything about me in the tabloids with a pinch of salt from now on. Even if we were going out, why would you kiss her?" He started frowning. What if they had done more then kissed? He felt horror in his veins at the thought of someone else with her.

"Well, she's proper fit, you gotta admit." The man on the other end takes a bite of something, Sherlock rolls his eyes, but find himself not disagreeing. "Anyway, she did kiss me back, so, you learn sommet new everyday, right?"

Sherlock's jaw drops. "What?"

"She was really into it mate. Maybe that's just my skill though, you never know." Sherlock hung up. He stood there, gob-smacked. _I'm going to have to go through with it. If I want to keep the deadly secret, I'm going to have to make up an excuse. A personality disorder? She already knew the symptoms for that probably, but I could pull it off. Every once in a while, kiss her like that so she'd believe it? He felt something in his stomach that would have been described as butterflies, had he ever felt them before. He killed them quickly, confused as to why it would make him feel excited that that may be a viable option. _

**Ramona**

Sherlock walked back in, as she watched tentatively. "So?"

The detective sits at the table. "I-" John walked in, cutting him off. They both turned to him too quickly to be innocent. He frowned for a split second, and then Sherlock got a text. He scrambled to pick it up, making Ramona and John share a look of confusion. As he reads the text, his eyes widen, and he sinks into his seat, gazing into nothingness. She frowns and picks up his phone, and he doesn't budge.

**Come and play.**

**Tower Hill.**

**Jim Moriarty x.**

She frowns even harder as she shows it to John. His jaw drops. "He's back." John stumbles to find a chair, leaving Ramona completely bewildered, looking between them with narrowed eyes.

The three watched the screen as they are watching the recorded security footage taken from behind Jim as he sticks the gum onto the glass. From a distance it's not clear what he then pushes into the gum. Ramona watches Sherlock lean into the screen and wonders for a second how he could possibly be unaccustomed to relationships. _He's just so attractive.. Maybe he's gay. That would or wouldn't explain what happened yesterday. _She shook her head slightly and focused._ He must of used a diamond._

"That glass is tougher than anything." Lestrade says, disbelieving the proof on the small screen.

"Not tougher than crystallized carbon. He used a diamond."

Lestrade adjusts the footage, which shifts to a recording taken from the other side of the glass. The footage also goes into reverse, showing the glass rising back up into place before it shattered. As Jim pulls the fire extinguisher back again and the glass becomes whole, the message which he scrawled onto it becomes clear. He deliberately wrote the words backwards on the glass so that they would be seen from the camera on the other side of the case. With the smiley face inside the "O", the message reads:

GET

SHERLOCK

Ramona frowns in confusion, watching for Sherlock's reaction quickly. He doesn't react at all, his eyes fixed on the screen.

She fixed her hair into a bun , looking at her reflection in complete disdain. Ramona was wearing a black pencil skirt, a white blouse, and a dreaded black blazer, which reminded her of her school days. At least she didn't have to wear a tie again. She scowled at the mirror As she noticed Sherlock watching her in the mirror. "I dare you to say what you want to."

He smirked as she gave him a warning look. "You look very... Conservative." Ramona huffed.

"And you look the same as always."

"It goes with any occasion." He buttons up his blazer, as Ramona struggles to fight the impulse to bite her lip.

"Yet you wear a sheet to Buckingham palace." They both giggle in synchronization as John walks in.

Sherlock leads the way downstairs and goes to the front door, then stops and turns to the side to allow Ramona and John to pass him and reach out towards the door.

"Ready?" John asks, looking rather dapper in his suit.

"Yes." Replies Sherlock.

As John opens the door, hordes of reporters literally start shouting questions at them, as police officers push them back, making a pathway to the police car for the trio.

"Remember ..." Starts John.

"Yes." replies Sherlock immediately.

John is insistent however."Remember..."

"Yes."

John looks away in frustration, Ramona slightly frowns, as she tries to get the message to Sherlock by speaking quickly. "Remember what they told you: don't try to be clever..."

"No." Sherlock speaks over her.

"And please, just keep it simple and brief." Adds John.

"God forbid the star witness at the trial should come across as intelligent." Sherlock answers sarcastically.

"'Intelligent', fine; let's give 'smart-arse' a wide berth." Ramona narrows her eyes at the cocky detective.

There's a slight pause. "I'll just be myself."

"Are you even listening to us?!" Ramona says, irritated.

Ramona and John sit in the public gallery upstairs, and she finds her heart in her throat as Moriarty's conniving eyes find her and winks, making her feel vulnerable, as she swallowed involuntarily, and quickly switched on a death glare, making him smile. He looked her up and down and looked back to whatever it was he was doing. Sherlock watched the exchange with a sick feeling, like he cared if she was in danger.

"A 'consulting criminal'." Says the prosecuting barrister.

"Yes." Replies Sherlock.

"Your words. Can you expand on that answer?"

"James Moriarty is for hire."

"A tradesman?"

"Yes."

"But not the sort who'd fix your heating."

"No, the sort who'd plant a bomb or stage an assassination, but I'm sure he'd make a pretty decent job of your boiler." Ramona rolls her eyes and smiles at the man, as he looks up to gauge her reaction. There's muffled laughter from some people in the court, and the prosecuting barrister tries to hide her smile.

"Would you describe him as..."

"Leading." Sherlock interrupts her.

"What?"

"Can't do that. You're leading the witness. He looks towards the defending barrister. He'll object and the judge will uphold." The judge looks exasperated – apparently this isn't the first time Sherlock has done this during his evidence.

"Mr Holmes." Says the judge.

"Ask me how. How would I describe him? What opinion have I formed of him? Do they not teach you this?" Sherlock asks the prosecuting barrister.

"Mr Holmes, we're fine without your help." Says the judge again. John turns round to see a Woman enter the public gallery, who at first glance would be Sherlock's number one stalker, but at second glance to Ramona, was a journalist.

"How would you describe this man – his character?"

"First mistake." He locks his gaze onto Moriarty. "James Moriarty isn't a man at all – he's a spider; a spider at the centre of a web – a criminal web with a thousand threads and he knows precisely how each and every single one of them dances."Jim nods his head happily in approval of the description. The prosecuting barrister clears her throat awkwardly.

"And how long ..."

Sherlock buts in again, closing his eyes in exasperation."No, no, don't-don't do that. That's really not a good question."

"Mr Holmes." Says the judge, now angrily.

"How long have I known him? Not really your best line of enquiry. We met twice, five minutes in total. I pulled a gun; he tried to blow me up. I felt we had a special something." He adds sarcastically. Moriarty raises his eyebrows at this.

The judge turns to the prosecuting barrister. "Miss Sorrel, are you seriously claiming this man is an expert, after knowing the accused for just five minutes?"

"Two minutes would have made me an expert. Five was ample."

The judge now turns to Sherlock. "Mr Holmes, that's a matter for the jury."

Sherlock frowns "Oh, really?" Ramona and John slowly turn to each other, making an 'Oh Shit.' Expression.

Sherlock signs for his property outside the cell, as Ramona desperately trys to put a disapproving look over her emerging smirk, folding her arms.

"What did we say? We said to not get clever." John says to Sherlock.

"I can't just turn it on and off like a tap." Taking the bag of items from the custody officer, he turns to John as they begin to walk away.

"Well?"

"Well what?" Asks John. Ramona turns to Sherlock

"Like you said it would be." She reffered to Moriarty's defending barrister. "He sat on his backside, never even stirred."

"Moriarty's not mounting any defence."

* * *

Ramona sits in Johns chair, staring disbelieving at the detective in a dressing gown. He lies on his back on the sofa. She opens her mouth to speak, but is cut off but Sherlocks phone springing to life. After hearing a frantic tone in a voice through his phone, she sees Sherlock lower his phone slowly.

"You need to leave."

"What?"

"Go now."

"Why?"

He gets up venomously and stares down at her.

"Its going to be a very dangerous situation for you here in around," He checks his watch. "Five minutes. Go into your flat or something, leave me for a while."

She frowns. "No."

"Why do you always have to be so stubborn!" He shouts, opening the door. She doesn't move.

"Well, they do say we're very alike." He looks at her in a rage, and suddenly changes his attitude to pleading.

"Please, leave now."

"Unless you drag me, it's not happening. I'm guessing Moriarty walked away, and now he's coming here. I can handle myself, don't worry."

"I wasn't worrying." He says through gritted teeth, slamming the door so hard she thought it would come off the hinges, making her eyes widen.

Ramona stands up, as if preparing herself. In the kitchen he switches on the kettle and slams down a small tray beside it, putting a jug of milk, a sugar bowl, a teapot and two cups and saucers with teaspoons onto the tray. The kettle comes to the boil and switches off and Sherlock, now wearing a jacket in place of the dressing gown, makes the tea and takes the tray to the table beside John's chair, then walks over to his own chair and picks up his violin and bow. As he begins to play Bach's Sonata No. 1 in G minor, downstairs the front door is expertly lock-picked and pushed open. Jim's easily-recognisable shadow precedes him as he slowly walks along the hall and up the stairs. Partway up, one of the stairs creaks noisily and Jim pauses for a moment, as does Sherlock's playing. A couple of seconds later Sherlock resumes from a few notes before where he stopped and Jim starts to climb the stairs again. Sherlock, standing with his back to the living room door, keeps playing until Jim pushes open the door, then he stops but doesn't yet turn around.

"Most people knock." Sherlock shrugs. "But then you're not most people, I suppose." He gestures to the kitchen with his bow. "Kettle's just boiled."

Jim walks further into the room and bends to pick up an apple from the bowl on the coffee table, smiling almost perversely at Ramona, as Sherlock clenches his jaw unhappily. "Johann Sebastian would be appalled." He says. Tossing the apple up and catching it he looks around the living room as if searching for a seat. "May I?"

"Please." He gestures with the end of his bow towards John's chair. Jim immediately walks over to Sherlock's chair and sits in that one instead. Sherlock looks slightly unnerved, which Ramona hates. Jim takes out a small penknife and starts to cut into the apple while Sherlock puts down the violin and begins to pour tea into the cups. Ramona stands next to the table, watching the man carve something into the apple.

"You know when he was on his death bed, Bach, he heard his son at the piano playing one of his pieces. The boy stopped before he got to the end ..."

"...and the dying man jumped out of his bed, ran straight to the piano and finished it." Finished Sherlock.

"Couldn't cope with an unfinished melody."

"Neither can you. That's why you've come." Says Ramona matter of factually.

Moriarty smirks at the girl. "But be honest: you're just a tiny bit pleased."

Sherlock quickly diverts the mans attention back to him. "What, with the verdict?"

He picks up one of the teacups, adds a splash of milk and turns and offers the cup to Jim, who sits up straighter and takes it.

"With me... back on the streets." He gazes into Ramona's eyes. "Every fairytale needs a good old-fashioned villain." Ramona turns away to sit at the table. He grins. Sherlock adds milk to his own cup.

"You need me, or you're nothing. Because we're just alike, you and I – except you're boring." Ramona raises her eyebrows. If he was boring compared to Jim, how interesting was he? Curiosity involuntarily spiked into her mind.

"You're on the side of the angels." He sips his tea calmly.

"Got to the jury, of course." Ramona narrows her eyes slightly.

Jim smiles. "I got into the Tower of London; you think I can't worm my way into twelve hotel rooms?"

"Cable network."

"Every hotel bedroom has a personalised TV screen ... And every person has their pressure point; someone that they want to protect from harm." Ramona wonders how someone so innocent looking could be so evil. "Easy-peasy." He adds softly.

"So how're you going to do it... burn me?" Ramona frowns in confusion.

Jim speaks softly. "Oh, that's the problem – the final problem. Have you worked out what it is yet?"

"What's the final problem? I did tell you,but did you listen?" He takes another sip of tea and then puts the cup down into the saucer. Putting his hand onto his knee, he starts idly drumming his fingers. Ramona and Sherlock's eyes lower to watch the movement.

"How hard do you find it, having to say 'I don't know'?"

Sherlock puts his cup into its saucer and shrugs. "I dunno."

"Oh, that's clever; that's very clever; awfully clever."

He chuckles as Sherlock smiles humourlessly while putting his cup back onto the tray.

"Speaking of clever," He turns to her. "Do you know why I broke into all those places and never took anything?"

"No."

"But you understand."

"Obviously." She says, trying to look bored.

"Off you go, then." He has carved a piece off his apple and puts it into his mouth with the flat of his penknife.

"You want me to tell you what you already know?" She frowns slightly.

"No; I want you to prove that you know it."

"You didn't take anything because you don't need to."

Jim answers softly. "Good." He smiles approvingly.

"You'll never need to take anything ever again."

"Very good. Because ...?"

"Because nothing ... nothing in the Bank of England, the Tower of London or Pentonville Prison could possibly match the value of the key that could get you into all three."

"I can open any door anywhere with a few tiny lines of computer code. No such thing as a private bank account now – they're all mine. No such thing as secrecy – I own secrecy. Nuclear codes – I could blow up NATO in alphabetical order. In a world of locked rooms, the man with the key is king; and honey, you should see me in a crown." He smiles in delight at the girl as Sherlock watches, worried.

"You were just advertising all the way through the trial. You were showing the world what you can do."

"And you were helping. Big client list: rogue governments, intelligence communities ... terrorist cells. They all want me." He lifts another piece of apple to his mouth with the penknife.

"Suddenly, I'm Mr Sex." He winks at Ramona, as she matches his playfulness with equally powerful seriousness.

"If you could break any bank, what do you care about the highest bidder?" She asks.

"I don't. I just like to watch them all competing. "Daddy loves me the best!" Aren't ordinary people adorable? Well, you know: you've got John. I should get myself a live-in one." He narrows his eyes slightly at the girl, and she sees Sherlock's eyes widen for a second.

"Why are you doing all of this?" He asks.

Jim is obviously still thinking about his last idea, still looking at her. "It'd be so funny."

"You don't want money or power – not really." Jim digs the point of his penknife into the apple.

"What is it all for?" She asks him.

"I want to solve the problem – our problem; the final problem." He lowers his head. "It's gonna start very soon, Sherlock: the fall." He raises his head and whistles a slowly descending note as he gradually looks down towards the floor. "But don't be scared. Falling's just like flying, except there's a more permanent destination." His gaze reaches the floor and he makes the sound of something thudding to the ground. Raising his head slowly, he glowers across at Sherlock, who bares his teeth slightly and then stands and buttons his jacket.

"Never liked riddles."

Jim stands as well and straightens his jacket, locking his gaze onto Sherlock's eyes. "Learn to. Because I owe you a fall, Sherlock. I ... owe ... you." He turns to the girl. "You'll be seeing more of me soon, Ramona." He walks closer and whispers into her ear. "I promise."

He continues to gaze at Ramona at such a distance that she could smell the gum he had in his mouth an hour ago for about six seconds, sealing his promise, then slowly turns and walks away. Sherlock doesn't move as Jim leaves the room, but after a while he moves towards the apple which Jim left on the arm of his chair with the penknife still stuck in it. He picks it up by the knife handle and looks at it. Jim has dug a large circular piece out of the apple, and on the left of the circle he has carved an "I" shape while on the right of the circle is a "U" shape, forming the letters "I O U".

Sherlock sighed heavily, and turns to her. "I told you to go. Now you're another thing to worry about."

She ignored him and smiled. "I thought you said you weren't worrying." She takes the apple from him. "You don't have to do that with me, I'm a big girl, and I can easily take care of myself." She says the last sentence with a dangerous glint in her eyes, promising trouble. She took a bite out of the apple in her hand and smiled at the troubled man, who quickly scowled at her confidence.

"You're impossible. You know that?"

"Sounds like something John would say." She answered nonchalantly, and Sherlock smirked to himself, letting her casualness take hold of his anxiety. Little did he know, that inside, she was raw and wracked with nerves, and was terribly afraid for all of them, but for the same reason, had to guard this fact. She had to be strong, especially for him. She had to.

* * *

**Sorry if this was too sticking to the actual show, but I need to yano  
**

**Meanwhile, the news about Benedict having a girlfriend is really depressing me :'(**

**Thank you so much for reading and reviewing, it really motivates me to keep writing!**


	16. There Is A Light That Never Goes Out

**There Is A Light That Never Goes out**

I don't own anything apart from the OC.

* * *

The car pulls up at St Aldate's prep school, she turns to see the headmistress with a blanket around her shoulders, crying her heart out. Her eyes sadden at the state of her. A police officer comforts her. "Miss Mackenzie, House Mistress. Go easy." Lestrade murmurs to Sherlock. Ramona and him approach the sobbing mess of a woman.

"Miss Mackenzie, you're in charge of pupil welfare, yet you left this place wide open last night." His voice rises angrily ."What are you: an idiot, a drunk or a criminal?" Ramona is taken aback by the sudden display of anger. He grabs the blanket and abruptly pulls it from around her shoulders. She gasps in fear as he glares furiously at her. "Now quickly, tell me!"

"All the doors and windows were properly bolted. No-one – not even me – went into their room last night. You have to believe me!" She replies, cringing in fear. Sherlock's demeanour instantly changes and he smiles reassuringly and gently takes hold of her shoulders.

"I do. I just wanted you to speak quickly."

"Miss Mackenzie will need to breathe into a bag now." Ramona shakes her head at him, as he turns leads the others to the dormitories.

"Six grand a term, you'd expect them to keep the kids safe for you. You said the other kids had all left on their holidays?" Says John. Sherlock looks into a cupboard beside one of the beds as Ramona drops to her knees and peers under the bed.

"They were the only two sleeping on this floor. Absolutely no sign of a break-in." Lestrade informs the trio. Sherlock picks up a lacrosse stick lying on the floor and gets to his feet while looking at the stick closely. He briefly wields it as if using it as a weapon but then apparently decides it wasn't used in that way and drops it to the floor again.

"The intruder must have been hidden inside some place." Says Lestrade. Ramona goes over to a wooden trunk and opens the lid. Amongst the other items inside the trunk he finds a large brown envelope with a wax seal on the back which has already been broken as if someone has opened the envelope. Inside is a large hardback book. Checking the envelope carefully first, she then takes the book out and looks at the cover. The book is "Grimm's Fairy Tales." He looks along the edges of the book and then riffles the pages quickly. Finding nothing of interest, she looks up.

"Show me where the brother slept." Sherlock demands.

He is taken to another smaller dormitory and looks around, going to stand beside the only bed in the room which still has bedding on it. The bed is opposite the door, which has a frosted glass pane in it. He looks towards the door while gesturing down to the bed.

"The boy sleeps there every night, gazing at the only light source outside in the corridor." Ramona says to Sherlock.

"He'd recognise every shape, every outline, the silhouette of everyone who came to the door." Finished Sherlock.

"Okay, so ..." John's voice wanders.

"So someone approaches the door who he doesn't recognise, an intruder. Maybe he can even see the outline of a weapon." She says. Leaving the other three inside the room, he goes outside the door and pulls it almost closed, then raises his hand and points his fingers as if they're a gun, showing the others how it would be seen through the frosted glass. He pushes the door open and comes back into the room.

"What would he do in the precious few seconds before they came into the room? How would he use them if not to cry out?" Asks Sherlock.

"This little boy; this particular little boy..." She points to a pile of books. "Who reads all of those spy books. What would he do?"

"He'd leave a sign?" John asks.

Sherlock starts sniffing noisily. He picks up a cricket bat leaning against the nearby cupboard and sniffs along both sides of it. Ramonn squats and sniffs around the bedside table, then reaches under the bed and finds an almost empty glass bottle of linseed oil. She looks up, eyes wide and turns to Lestrade.

"Get Anderson." Sherlock scowled that she had won the race, but the competitiveness made the two very efficient together. A good team.

Not long afterwards the room has been darkened as much as possible by closing the wooden shutters over the windows. Sherlock shines an ultraviolet light on the wall beside the boy's bed where the words "HELP US" have been written on the wall, only now visible in the light.

"Linseed oil." He said.

"Not much use. Doesn't lead us to the kidnapper."

"Brilliant, Anderson."

"Really?"

"Yes. Brilliant impression of an idiot." Ramona hides a snigger, and remembers the book she found.

"Grimm's fairy tales!" She says happily. Sherlock narrows his eyes at the girl and her ability to undermine him.

"I was just getting to that." They both look down.

"The floor." She states.

There are several sets of illuminated footprints of varying sizes leading towards the door. Sherlock slowly follows them.

"He made a trail for us!"

"The boy was made to walk ahead of them."

John looks to the smaller set of footprints. "On, what, tiptoe?"

"Indicates anxiety; a gun held to his head." Ramona says.

He walks slowly out into the corridor, which has also been blacked out, and follows the footsteps. Anderson walks beside him with another ultraviolet light.

"The girl was pulled beside him, dragged sideways. He had his left arm cradled about her neck." She said sadly. Sherlock frowns at her tone of voice. A few yards along the corridor the glowing footsteps stop.

"That's the end of it. We don't know where they went from here." Says John. Sherlock stops. Anderson turns back to him.

"Tells us nothing after all." He says.

"You're right, Anderson – nothing." He winks at Ramona.

"Except his shoe size, his height, his gait, and his walking pace." The girl smiles at the scowling man.

He reaches to the closest window and tears down the blackout material that had been stuck across it. Daylight floods back into the corridor. Putting the light onto the window sill, he kneels down and takes his wallet of tools and a small lidded plastic Petri dish from his inside pocket. While the police go back towards the bedroom, he puts the dish on the floor, opens the wallet and chuckles contentedly. John squats down beside him.

"Having fun?" Asks John.

"Starting to."

"Maybe don't do the smiling." Sherlock lifts his head, confused.

"Kidnapped children?" Says Ramona.

Sherlock lowers his head again and concentrates on scraping some of the dried linseed oil and floor wax loose with a small scalpel and then using tweezers to pick up the loosened pieces and put them into the container. Ramona and John share a confused look.

Ramona watches the buildings and people go past the window of the taxi absent-mindedly.

"But how did he get past the CCTV? If all the doors were locked ..." Wonders John.

"He walked in when they weren't locked." States Sherlock.

"But a stranger can't just walk into a school like that." Johns brow furrows.

"Anyone can walk in anywhere if they pick the right moment. Yesterday – end of term, parents milling around, chauffeurs, staff. What's one more stranger among that lot?"

Ramona speaks up. "He was waiting for them. All he had to do was find a place to hide."

* * *

"Molly!" Cries Sherlock.

"Oh, hello. I'm just going out." She smiles nervously.

Sherlock put his hands onto her shoulders and turning her back the way she just came "No you're not."

"I've got a lunch date."

"Cancel it. You're having lunch with me."

Reaching into his coat pockets, he dramatically produces a bag of Quavers crisps from each pocket. Ramona rolls her eyes so hard she worries for a second she'll be able to see her brain.

"What?"

"Need your help. It's one of your old boyfriends – we're trying to track him down. He's been a bit naughty!"

Ramona and Sherlock reach the fire doors at the other end of the corridor, he turns and smiles back at Molly, who has stopped dead a few paces back. John also stops and stares at him.

"It's Moriarty?" Asks John.

"Course it's Moriarty." Ramona frowns at the two.

"Er, Jim actually wasn't even my boyfriend. We went out three times. I ended it." Molly says awkwardly.

"Yes, and then he stole the Crown Jewels, broke into the Bank of England and organised a prison break at Pentonville. For the sake of law and order, I suggest you avoid all future attempts at a relationship, Molly." Ramona raises an eyebrow at this. Is this Sherlock's way of saying she shouldn't go out with anyone except for him? What was he trying to say?

Shortly afterwards, wearing her lab coat, Molly pushes her way through the door into Sherlock's favourite lab weighed down by the huge pile of books and files she is carrying. As she staggers into the room, Sherlock is sitting at the bench in front of a microscope. John is standing at the other side of the bench.

Ramona stares out of the window unhappily and absent-mindedly. She admittedly hated science, but it was a fundamental element to what the trio did. John walks over to the other side of the lab, flipping through the police photos.

Ramona watches the interaction between the pair working away at something, for some reason, anxiously. Molly was very pretty and made Ramona very much more insecure when she had to be in the presence of the mousy and nervous scientist. "I need that analysis." Sherlock tells Molly. She squeezes some liquid into a glass dish and applies some Litmus paper to it. The paper turns blue.

"Alkaline."

"Thank you, Ramona."

"Molly."

"Yes." Molly turns away unhappily, and makes a glower at Ramona. She looks down to her shoes and walks across the sterile lab to Sherlock, who has found the first component in the mixture of items and makes a note of it:

He has another sample on a slide "I ... owe ... you." He murmurs very quietly to himself. Ramona goes red, eyes widening, obviously mishearing him.

"W- what?"

"Hm? Oh, just talking to myself."

She sighs. "Of course." He turns his head and looks at a computer screen nearby.

"Glycerol molecule."

"What are you?" Asks Sherlock to the piece of whatever it is He looks into the microscope again as Molly stands beside him typing onto a laptop.

"What did you mean, 'I owe you'?" Ramona decides to join John on the other side of the lab, looking through police photos taken at the school. He finds one of the inside of the wooden trunk which shows the envelope with the wax seal, and another with a close-up of the seal.

"Sherlock." Ramona starts.

"Hmm?"

"This envelope that was in her trunk. There's another one." She points to a photo. Sherlock walks over.

"What?" Sherlock asked.

"On our doorstep. Found it today." She gets the envelope out of her pocket and looks at it.

"Look at that. Exactly the same seal." Exclaims John. She reaches into the the envelope and finds breadcrumbs, and frowns. "Grimm's fairy tales..." Her eyes widen to saucers. "Hansel and Gretel." She turns to Sherlock. "Every fairytale need a good old-fashioned villian."

"It's a boast, it's all just a game to him." Sherlock looks back into the the microscope.

"The fifth substance: it's part of the tale."

"The witches house." Ramona murmurs.

"PGPR!" Sherlock cries, as her eyes widen with his.

"What's that?"

"It's used in making chocolate." The trio hurry out of the lab.

* * *

They had found the children, the boy was in intensive care, and the girl was in Scotland Yard. Sherlock paces outside the office while John sits nearby, and Ramona leans on a wall thoughtfully. The door to the office opens and donovan and Greg come out.

"Right, then. The professionals have finished. If the amateurs wanna go in and have their turn..." Donovan says sarcastically to Sherlock. Ramona was very certain that she didn't like the woman, she was too nasty to Sherlock, like she was jealous or something.

"Now, remember, she's in shock and she's just seven years old, so anything you can do to..." Says Lestrade seriously to Sherlock.

"Not be myself." Finishes the consulting detective.

"Yeah. Might be helpful."

Sherlock looks round to John, and starts to walk in, before Ramona grabbed the back of his coat. He slowly turned round, frowning. She stifles a laugh at his expression as she reaches up and un-pops the collar of his coat. He rolls his eyes and smiles at the small girl, who looks up to return the smiles. Donovan crosses her arms as Lestrade shares a knowing smile with John.

They walk in, and Sherlock goes to sit down. "Claudette, I..." He's unable to get anymore words out because she takes one look at Sherlock and begins to give out screams of terror.

"No-no, I know it's been hard for you..." She continues to scream and tries to scramble away whilst pointing at him. Ramona frowns in complete confusion.

"Claudette, listen to me..."

"Out. Get out!" Lestrade grabs Sherlock's arm roughly and bundles him out of the room as the girl continues to scream. Sherlock is standing at the window of another office looking out into the night through the slats of the Venetian blinds with Ramona, occasionally watching her eyes search the dark night sky, trying to find a star which doesn't end up being a plane. Sally stands at the other side of the office watching them thoughtfully.

"Makes no sense."

"The kid's traumatised. Something about Sherlock reminds her of the kidnapper." Ramona turns round to face the people.

"So what's she said?" she asks.

"Hasn't uttered another syllable." Donovan replies.

"And the boy?" Asks John.

"No, he's unconscious; still in intensive care."

Suddenly Sherlock is staring wide eyed out of the window, Ramona frowns but ignores the strange man.

"Well, don't let it get to you. I always feel like screaming when you walk into a room! In fact, so do most people." Says Lestrade, trying to lighten the mood. He looks around to Sally and John. "Come on." He and John leave the room.

"Brilliant work you did, finding those kids from just a footprint. It's really amazing." Donovan says to Sherlock. Ramona wonders if in the world of recognition she really is in his shadow, however unknown to onlookers, casting an even bigger one.

"Thank you." Sherlock goes to leave.

"Unbelievable." Says Donovan pointedly. Sherlock hesitate and then continues on. Ramona narrows her eyes at the woman clearly, leaving Sally to swallow as she leaves with a death glare in her eyes.

John waits for Sherlock and the accompanying girl to join him and then looks down the street.

"Ah." He raises his hand to hail the approaching taxi. As the boys walk to the edge of the kerb, John looks round to Sherlock. Ramona has a distant look in her eyes.

"You okay?"

"Thinking." He says, as the taxi pulls up in front of them.

"This is my cab. You get the next one."

"Why?" She frowns incredulously.

"You might talk." Ramona rolls her eyes at the man.

John and Ramonas cab pull up as Sherlock is spinning around, trying to find something, looking distressed. She frowns as she leans to see more of the scene, and gasps loudly as she sees the slumped figure of a big man in front of him. She quickly jumps out and sprints towards him as John is paying.

Sherlock stands twitching his fingers fretfully while an ambulance crew wheels the mans body away. He watches Ramona with a creased brow, watching her watch the dead man being wheeled away with a blank expression, unreadable as always.

"That ... it's him. It's him. Sulejmani or something. Mycroft showed me his file. He's a big Albanian gangster lives two doors down from us." Ramona raises an eyebrow in confusion.

"He died because I shook his hand." States Sherlock.

"What d'you mean?" Asks John.

"He saved my life but he couldn't touch me. Why?" Sherlock storms off, the two share a look and follow him.

In 221B, Ramona looks around. "They were all here for you, but weren't allowed to touch you. They weren't posing a threat, they were..."

"A web of surveillance, closing in around me." Her eyes widen slightly.

"They- he won't of stopped there. There has to be..."

"We have to get Mrs Hudson."

Mrs Hudson stands in the living room with the trio in her nightie.

Okay Mrs Hudson, this is really important. Can you remember precise details what's been cleaned in the last week?"

"Well, Tuesday I did your lino..." Ramona smiles at the woman.

"No, in here, this room. This is where we'll find it – any break in the dust line. You can put back anything but dust." Says Sherlock. He lifts his hand from the latest piece of furniture that he has been running his finger along, and twirls his finger dramatically in the air.

"Dust is eloquent."

She turns to John. "What's he on about?" John shakes his head and mumbles.

"Cameras. We're being watched." Ramona says to the woman. She turns to the bookcase and gets on her tip toes trying to look at each shelf on the book case. Sherlock watches with narrowed eyes.

"What? Cameras?" Mrs Hudson visibly cringes. "Here? I'm in my nightie!"

The doorbell rings and Mrs Hudson hurries out of the room, John following her. Sherlock has climbed down and now checks in the eye sockets of the skull on the mantelpiece before climbing onto small tables on the other side of the fireplace to look at the bookshelves there. Ramona starts checking the books on the top shelf,having to jump to do so. She realises that the one on the far right has more movement around it than it ought to. She visibly struggles to get an arm into the shelf as she moves books around, grunting. She lets out a cry as She finds a camera, and reaches up to remove it. She pouts when she can't reach, making Sherlock giggle and tries to retrieve it for her. Ramona pokes him in the ribs playfully as he stretches to does so, making him retaliate in extra force, grinning. She lets out a loud 'OW!' and giggles like a schoolgirl, making him grin even more as she blushes slightly at her immaturity, poking him harder than before, as he laughs and keels over slightly. They're both laughing together as Greg comes into the room followed by John. The pair instantly stop and snap to them, like two suspicious children. Sherlock looks back to the camera, focusing on trying to remove it. She realises what Moriarty has done. Planted a seed of doubt into them with the screaming little girl, and waiting until it grew into a plant full of arrests.

"No, Inspector."

"What?" Lestrade frowned.

"The answer's no."

"But you haven't heard the question!"

"You want to take me to the station. Just saving you the trouble of asking." Sherlock walks closer. Greg pulls in a breath.

"Sherlock-" Starts Lestrade.

"The scream?" Sherlock asks, butting in.

"Yeah."

"Who was it? Donovan? I bet it was Donovan. Am I somehow responsible for the kidnapping? Ah, Moriarty is smart. He planted that doubt in her head; that little nagging sensation. You're going to have to be strong to resist. You can't kill an idea, can you? Not once it's made a home..." He puts an index finger briefly onto the middle of Lestrade's forehead. "There."

"Will you come?" He asks.

Sherlock turns away, sitting down at the laptop and beginning to type. "One photograph – that's his next move. Moriarty's game: first the scream, then a photograph of me being taken in for questioning. He wants to destroy me inch by inch." He picks up the camera again, he looks at it for a moment, then raises his eyes to Greg's.

"It is a game, Lestrade, and not one I'm willing to play." His voice reaches the depths of baritone, and Ramona fears for a second she might just swoon, the sound turning her knees weak. She swallows quickly and darts her eyes around the room, trying to regain feeling to her legs. "Give my regards to Sargeant Donovan." Lestrade sigh's and shares a brief look with John, before turning and leaving.

"They'll be deciding." Sherlock says.

"Deciding?" Asks John.

"Whether to come back with a warrant and arrest me."

"You think?"

"Standard procedure."

"Should have gone with him. People'll think..." John starts.

"I don't care what people think." Sherlock interrupts.

"You'd care if they thought you were stupid, or wrong." Ramona says.

"No, that would just make them stupid or wrong." John turns toward Sherlock angrily.

"Sherlock, I don't want the world believing you're..." Ramona's voice drifts, as she locks eyes with him.

"That I am what?" He asks.

"A fraud." Sherlock rolls his eyes and sits back in the seat.

"You're worried they're right." Ramona thinks for a second. It would be plausible. It could be why he couldn't figure out anything about her when they met. Why she almost always deduced things before him. She frowned. This couldn't be right. It wouldn't. It won't.

"What?" Asks John.

"You're worried they're right about me."

"No." Ramona says, slightly too angry.

"That's why you're so upset. You can't even entertain the possibility that they might be right. You're afraid that you've been taken in as well."

Ramona looks out of the window, looking at all the city lights. "No I'm not." Sherlock leans forward.

"Moriarty is playing with your mind too." He slams a fist down on the table furiously, causing Ramona's eyes to snap from the scenery to him, which was better than any city lights. "Can't you see what's going on?" She looks at him, and narrows her eyes at him. She thinks she sees him flinch at her stare, or she hopes so. Ramona turns back to the window.

"Of course I can. I figured it out the moment that girl started screaming. It's simple, yet devastating. Moriarty's being clever about this, but I can tell. You're for real."

"A hundred percent?"

"Of course. Anyway, nobody could fake being such an annoying dick all the time." Sherlock lock s eyes with her once again, and his mouth twitches with the ghost of a smile.

The doorbell rings twice before a voice can be heard. "Police!"

"I'll go." Mrs Hudson says. Ramona feels extreme anger at the situation.

Mrs Hudson turns and hurries down the stairs as someone continues to knock on the door. Voices can be heard as she opens the door.

They hear Donovan shout for Sherlock.

"Evening, Mrs Hudson." Lestrade's voice can be heard from the door. Ramona pulls on her leather jacket, looking very serious. Sherlock's eyes follow her darkly.

"We need to talk to you!" Donovan calls up the stairs.

"Don't barge in like that!" Cries Mrs Hudson angrily. Feet can suddenly be heard trotting up the stairs. Calmly Sherlock turns around and picks up his scarf and loops it around his neck. John blocks the stairway to 221B. Sherlock puts his coat on. Greg stands in front of him while one of two armed officers attaches handcuffs to his left wrist.

"Sherlock Holmes, I'm arresting you on suspicion of abduction and kidnapping." John gestures towards Sherlock while looking at Greg as the officer pulls Sherlock's left hand behind his back roughly in order to cuff his other wrist.

"He's not resisting, there's no need for that." she says, trying to remain calm.

"It's alright, Ramona." Sherlock tells her.

"He's not resisting. No, it's not all right. This is bloody ridiculous!" She exclaims.

"Get him downstairs now." The officer spins Sherlock around and marches him out of the door. Mrs Hudson is nearly in tears.

"You know you don't have to do..."

"Don't try to interfere, or I shall arrest you too." Says Lestrade, getting in his face. He turns and leaves the room. Ramona turns to Donovan with a fire in her eyes, who is standing near the door.

"You done?" She says to the very smug Sally.

"Oh, I said it." Ramona narrows her eyes, as the woman turns to John. "First time we met."

"Don't bother."

"Solving crimes won't be enough. One day he'll cross the line. Now, ask yourself: what sort of man would kidnap those kids just so he can impress us all by finding them?" Ramona clenches her jaw as Mrs Hudson gasps. The chief superintendent walks in.

"Donovan."

"Sir."

"Got our man?"

"Er, yes, sir."

"Looked a bit of a weirdo, if you ask me." Ramona clenches her fist and turns towards him. "Often are, these vigilante types." She feels anger like never before, after Sherlock basically did their job for them, he says this. She has the urge to hit him, and just might. He turns around to see Ramona staring at him. "What are you looking at?" He asks her. She smirks to see Sally's eyes widen as Ramona's fist collided with his face.

Her victim later walked out of the building holding a bloody handkerchief to his nose.

"Are you all right, sir?"

Sherlock is leaning against the side of a police car, facing it. Ramona is slammed against it to his left, causing a grunt to escape her. He gives a dirty look to the officer who had been man handling her, before giving an amused one to Ramona.

"Joining me?"

She smirked. "Yeah. Apparently it's against the law to punch the chief superintendant." She feels and looks the part in her jacket. "I'm seriously resisting the urge to pop my collar right now." They share a chuckle. Behind them, a couple of armed officers unlock the cuff on Sherlock's right hand and put it on Ramona's right wrist, chaining the boys together. Sherlock looks over his shoulder, watching what the officers are doing and where they're standing.

"Hmm. Bit awkward, this."

"Yeah. Tough to make an imminent and daring escape, if you ask me." He smiles down at the girl. He looks down at the squealing radio lying on the dashboard of the car they're leaning against. The dispatcher starts to speak.

"All units to two-seven." The dispatcher says, and starts to repeat herself before Sherlock rapidly reaches through the open window of the car with his free hand and presses down on the Talk button. Instantly the officer behind the boys doubles over in pain and grabs at his earpiece when a high-pitched squeal of feedback rips through it. Sherlock reaches behind him and pulls the officer's pistol free, instantly raising it. Because it's in his left hand, Ramona shackled right hand is yanked upwards as well and he gasps in surprise at the quick turning of tables. Sherlock aims at the nearest officer."Ladies and gentlemen, will you all please get on your knees?" He shouts. When no one reacted, he fired a bullet into the once silent night sky. "Now would be good!" Ramona gasps at the noise, praying that flashbacks would stay at bay. He lowers the pistol and points it at the officer again.

"Do as he says!"

The police start to kneel as Ramona and Sherlock back away. "I'm your hostage." He frowns for a second in confusion at the girl, before cottoning on, changing the gun over to his right hand and placing the gun next to her temple gently. He gives her a trying look before she swallows and nods slightly. "My hostage!" She gasps, acting dumb. He hides a smirk at the girl before they both continue backing away from the kneeling police. The pair back carefully around a corner.

After a pause of two seconds, Ramona speaks up. "So what should we do now?"

"Doing what Moriarty wants – I'm becoming a fugitive. Run." He turns and begins to sprint off down the road, dragging her at first with him, before Ramona catches up and basically races him. As they run side by side, Sherlock loops the loose chain between their handcuffs around his wrist.

"Take my hand." He says to her. She glances down at the later clad hand and doesn't give a second thought to it. She struggles to hide a big grin, visualising what they must look like to other people.

"There'll be no hearing the end of this." She says, smiling in the dark, her face only lit when they passed the lamp posts. Sirens can suddenly be heard approaching at the junction ahead of them. Sherlock swerves to his left and drops the pistol in the process. It clatters to the ground. Ramona's stomach drops.

"The gun!"

"Leave it!" He squeezes her hand and pulls her along, and shoves her down into a side alley as police cars race past. the alley looked too much like the one her worst nightmare had occurred. She hid her immense fear from him as best she could. They run down the alleyway and reach high railings blocking their way. They share a look before they both race each other to the dustbin, where almost in syncronisation, jusmp onto the dustbins, and then vaulting over the railings together. Ramona was always competitive, so mid-vault, put one light foot trainer sole onto the top of the railing, and pushes her body forwards, propelling herself into a front-flip, and landing it perfectly. She mentally thanked her secondary school gymnastics team, before feeling like a complete badass. Ramona leant down slightly to get her hands up to pop her collar. Sherlock rolled his eyes at the girl.

"Always have to be make it a competition, don't you?"

"I only do because I'm certain to win." She smirked.

Reaching a T-junction Sherlock turns to the right, then immediately brakes and ducks back again as a sirening police car races past the end of the alley. They lean on the wall, catching their breath for a moment. "Mycroft could help you. He could fix this."

He frowned. "A family reconciliation? Really not the time." There was a pause in the baritone voice. "Why do you hold such a high opinion of my brother?" Ramona sigh's. "Is there something going on between you two?"

"Oh my god Sherlock." He frowns. "Of course not." His tall figure slouched a bit. "Why do you care? Why do you always get so weird when its anything about me and a man?" An intense silence dances in the cold alley between them, as he stares her wildly down. She swallows and looks away, to see a face peering at them from the other end of the alley. She frowns and narrows her eyes, as Sherlock pulls her to the other side of the alley so he can look at the other side of the road, she grunts as her back hits the brick wall. "Sherlock..." She says in an uneasy tone.

"Yes."

"We're being followed by one of our neighbors. I'm sure he knows something." He raises a brow, before quickly darting to the opposite side of the alley to where they saw the curious face. "Where are you going?"

"We're going to jump in front of that bus."

"What?!" Sherlock's already running, dragging the incredulous girl with him at a speed. He suddenly stops in front of the fast approaching double decker, and Ramona swings with the handcuffs to join him. The man they saw charges into the road, before shoving the three of them both out of the path of the bus, as it passes, its horn blaring. Before their hero - or Ramona - can recover, Sherlock sits up and drags the mans gun out of his jean pocket, cocks and points it at him.

"Tell me what you want from me." Sherlock says sternly. The man does nothing but stare wide eyed. "Tell me." He says, getting more agitated.

"He left it at your flat." The man says.

"Who?" Sherlock asks.

"Moriarty."

"What?" Sherlock frowns as the three slowly get up, Sherlock still holding a steady hand on the gun.

"Of course. He's selling it – the programme he used to break into the Tower. He planted it when he came around." Ramona says, suddenly catching on. She suddenly hears three loud gunshots and sees the man reel and drop to the ground like a doll of sorts. They boths stare around to try and catch who did it, but as they hear sirens approaching, duck into an open doorway and another cop car drives past the end of the road. They both catch their breath.

"It's a game-changer. It's a key – it can break into any system and it's sitting in our flat right now. That's why he left that message telling everyone where to come. 'Get Sherlock.' We need to get back into the flat and search." Ramona nods in thought.

"Police'll be camped out. Why's he doing this? Trying to disprove everything you've ever done? What's the final trick? The final curtain call? He's going to try and hurt you more then you have been already, and he's exploiting all your weaknesses. We need to make sure John's safe-" She spots a pile of newspapers and picks up the top copy. "Jesus, have you seen this?" She shows the copy of the Sun to Sherlock. "Some kind of kiss and tell. Some bloke named Rich Brook." She looks up to gauge his reaction to the name, as he slowly turns his head to her. The name obviously means something to him. "Who is he Sherlock?" She frowned at him.

Ramona stood in the living room, trying to check her pockets without having to get on her knees so she could get her handcuffed wrists to where she wanted. She got in an awkward position and found three hairpins in her pocket, giving one to Sherlock, they began to unlock their handcuffs. He chuckled at the girls expression as she stuck her tongue out slightly, concentrating hard on freeing herself. She was done ten seconds after a smirking Sherlock, watching her pout as she knew she had been beaten. Footsteps can suddenly be heard coming up the steps, and a slow creak of the door, followed by a woman entering cautiously into her own flat, to see intruders. "Too late to go on the record?" Sherlock asks.

After a lot of talking, a scruffy man walks through the door, unshaven, around two days old clothes, carrying two shopping bags. On closer inspection she sees it's Moriarty. Ramona;s eyes widen. "Darling, they didn't have any ground coffee so I just got normal..." He raises his eyes and stares in terror at the sight of Sherlock, whose own eyes widen. Jim drops the shopping bag and backs away until he bumps into the wall behind him, holding his hands up protectively in front of him. "You said that they wouldn't find me here. You said that I'd be safe here." He says, his voice trembling and wavering with fear.

"You are safe, Richard. I'm a witness. He wouldn't harm you in front of witnesses." John points at Jim as Ramona continues to stare at him blankly.

"So that's your source? Moriarty is Richard Brook?!" John cries.

"Of course he's Richard Brook. There is no Moriarty. There never has been." Ramona's brow creases, confusion pulling them down like a tonne of weight.

"What are you talking about?" Ramona asks incredulously.

"Look him up. Rich Brook – an actor Sherlock Holmes hired to be Moriarty." Moriarty, or Richard Brook, pipes up.

"Miss Doherty, I know you're a good woman." Ramona snaps out of her confusion, suddenly changing to ferocity._ This can't be right. It's not. It's all part of his plan to divide and conquer us. Or maybe Sherlock is pulling a double bluff... No! This isn't right. It's not and it never will be. Sherlock was a detective before they met and he still is, just like Moriarty was a criminal mastermind before and after their meeting. _

"Don't ... don't h... Don't hurt me." Jim says shakily. She realises she has been baring her teeth to the fake, almost snarling at the man who she was sure was enjoying the close proximity of her forcing him into a corner of the small flat.

John starts shouting. "No, you are Moriarty!" He looks at the journalist and points to him. "He's Moriarty!" He looks back to Jim. "We've met, remember? You were gonna blow me up!" Jim put his hands briefly over his face, then holds them up in front of himself again, sounding as if he is almost crying in fear.

"I'm sorry. I'm sorry. He paid me. I needed the work. I'm an actor. I was out of work. I'm sorry, okay?" Ramona rolled her eyes. However, this statement in some aspects was true. He was an actor. And a very good one.

Kitty looks at Sherlock. "You invented James Moriarty, your nemesis."

"Invented him?" John asks, upset.

"Mmm-hmm. Invented all the crimes, actually – and to cap it all, you made up a master villain." Ramona frowned angrily at the woman, turning up her top lip in disdain.

"Oh, don't be ridiculous!" she shouts.

After giving evidence, the journalist's boyfriend had run off, and apparently landed on some bins."D'you know what, Sherlock Holmes? I look at you now and I can read you." She remarks smugly. Sherlock stops at the bottom of the stairs as she gets in his face. "And you ... repel ... me." Quickly, Sherlock turns and heads out of the door. John is holding a folder of articles about Richard Brook, shoves kitty aside and follows him. Ramona walks up to the woman, the boys too far away to hear her.

"You're being tricked, you know." The woman crosses her arms and switches her dependence of legs from left to right. "You'll see." She gets in her face, practically growling, scaring herself, and apparently Kitty. "You'll see. But it'll be too late then. You'll be guilty for something horrible, Kitty. You can put that on the record, you cretin." She spat, and walked out, leaving the frozen woman and slamming the door. She joined John outside, as apparently Sherlock had paced off, as is his terrible habit.

She entered her flat in a daze over the events, to find Hannah looking like a complete mess in the living room. She turned quickly to see her friend in the doorway, to which she ran to and crushed with the bear hug she was renowned for. She leaned back to study her friends face. "I was so worried Ray! I heard police, and then, then you were arrested, and then a gunshot, and Sherlock-"

"I'm alright, I'm fine. Does this mean we're okay?"

"Only if you tell me what happened in lots of detail." She negotiated.

Ramona giggled. "Alright, put the kettle on, and I'll tell you every last bit." She lit up like a child who was excited for her bedtime story.

Ramona sat watching Sherlock's nimble fingers dance on the small bouncy ball as John slept in the lab with his head resting on his crossed arms on the table. She decides to join in, gently flicking it back to him, and letting out a gently yawn. She blinked slowly, smiling at the man. He grinned back at the sleepy form of Ramona. They had been up all night in the lab, and she wanted to join John sleeping. She remembered she still hadn't gotten an explanation from Sherlock about what happened that night, but she found herself not caring too much. Maybe he has schizophrenia, she wasn't going to question it anymore, and she wasn't going to recipricate. He couldn't just spring stuff like that, as women were not playthings for him to pick up whenever he pleased. She wasn't, anyway. Ramona found Sherlocks hands tucking her hair behind her ear, sending shivers down her spine. She shook a little, and he chuckled at her. Ramona looked at him with sleepy eyes, and she swore she found a gentleness in his sharp grey eyes, a loving one. But she also saw weakness, and fear. A fear that crept into her viens and would keep her up at night. Ramona had never seen this before, and it almost felt like the Berlin wall between them was being knocked down with sledgehammer after sledgehammer. She saw what she thought was tears building up in his eyes, and she would hate for them to fall. She wrapped her arms around his waist in a hug. He stayed frozen for a minute, unsure, and then reciprocated. Ramona could feel Sherlock's heartbeat, how it was just as fast as hers. She felt him bury his face into her hair, and Ramona wondered if this was what a goodbye felt like. She didn't know why it would be a goodbye, but it had a strange finality to it that she disliked. Then Ramona realised that he was frightened. He was still just a little boy in a big coat, and she wanted nothing more then to save him. But if only she knew how. If only she knew how. She closed her eyes and started to fall asleep gently onto him. The detective smiled and wrapped his coat around her, letting her rest on her.

Ramona and John woke up to his phone ringing. She moaned at first, as the rest had been surprisingly better then she'd had in a while. She looked around, disorientated. He smirked at her as she stood up in his coat, buttoned up and everything. The arms engulfed her thin ones, and she laughed at her reflection, posing a few times as he laughed, before she flipped the collar and made finger guns at him, winking dramatically, making him laugh louder before John shushed him, irritated. Sherlock got up. "You pull it off, to say the least." He murmured to her.

"Why are you complimenting me? I can't get you into any labs!" She hissed playfully, before unbuttoning the coat and handing it to him, smiling. John's face drops suddenly, as Sherlock pulls out his phone and starts texting. John hangs up and turns to them.

"What is it?" Sherlock asks.

"Paramedics. Mrs Hudson – she's been shot."

Ramona's jaw drops. "What? How?"

John starts to act frantically. "Well, probably one of the killers you managed to attract ... Jesus. Jesus. She's dying, Sherlock. Let's go." Ramona's already at the door, beckoning Sherlock.

"You go. I'm busy." Ramona and John share an appalled look.

"Busy?" She asks incredulously.

"Thinking. I need to think." He said nonchalantly.

"Doesn't she mean anything to you?"Asks John.

"She's my landlady." he shrugs.

"She's dying..." Ramona said furiously.

"You machine." Said John. Ramona cringed. "Sod this. Sod this. You stay here if you want, on your own."

"Alone is what I have. Alone protects me." He said. Had Ramona dreamed what had just happened? She hated how he made her doubt her senses, her intuition, her own eyes.

"No. Friends protect people." Ramona frowned as she said it, and stormed out.

They got out of the taxi outside 221B, to find no ambulances or paramedics. They scramble inside to see a bald tattooed workman drilling a hole into a wall.

"Oh, you two startled me! Is everything okay now with the police? Has, um, Sherlock sorted it all out?" Mrs Hudson says softly. Ramona stares into space, letting the horror sink in.

"Oh my God." John says as Ramona sprints out, before following her out into the street. They look up and down the street frantically, searching for a black cab. Luckily they find one, and run for it.

Their phones start to ring in sync on the street. They share a look. "Hello?" Answers Ramona.

"Ramona, John."

"Hey, Sherlock, you okay?" John asks.

"Turn around and walk back the way you came now." He says sternly into the phone.

"N- no, we're coming in." She says down the phone line.

"Just do as I ask. Please" They do as he asks, and Ramona looks around for him.

"Stop there."

"Sherlock?"

"Okay, look up. I'm on the rooftop." They both look up, and Ramona goes pale, as if she was drained of all her blood.

"Oh God." John whispers.

" I ... I ... I can't come down, so we'll ... we'll just have to do it like this." Sherlock's voice says in her phone.

"What's going on?" She asks anxiously.

"An apology. It's all true." Ramona's eyes widen.

"What are you..." Her voice trails off.

"Everything they said about me. I invented Moriarty." Ramona stares up in disbelief.

"Why are you saying this?" She asks.

"I'm a fake." Ramona hears his voice falter, breaking her heart.

"Sherlock..." Says John.

"The newspapers were right all along. I want you to tell Lestrade; I want you to tell Mrs Hudson, and Molly... in fact, tell anyone who will listen to you that I created Moriarty for my own purposes." Ramona's voice begins to tear up with his.

"Okay, shut up, Sherlock, shut up. The first time we met ... the first time we met, you knew all about my sister, right?"

"Nobody could be that clever."

"You could. And her." John says. Sherlock laughs, but she can tell there are tears falling from his face.

"I researched you. Before we met I discovered everything that I could to impress you." He sniffs. "It's a trick. Just a magic trick." Ramona closes her eyes and shakes her head, looking up at the figure on the roof.

"No, no. Stop, please stop now." Her voice is teary as she starts to walk towards the hospital.

"No, stay exactly where you are. Don't move." Sherlock says urgently.

"Alright." Says John.

"Keep your eyes fixed on me. Please, will you do this for me?" His voice wavers and feels her heart being broken into crumbs and slowly ground into a red powder.

"Do what?" She asks, as tears fall from her chin and splash onto the dirty tarmac at her feet.

"This phone call – it's, er ... it's my note. It's what people do, don't they – leave a note?"

"Leave a note when?" John asks, disbelieving.

"Goodbye." He says.

"N-no, Sherlock. Sherlock!" The phone line is sickeningly disconnected.

"No, Sherlock!" John Shouts. Ramona screams his name bloodcurdling as she watches the tail of his coat fly behind his falling body. She hears his body hit the floor as adrenaline starts to pump aggressively in her veins, fueling her body to get to him. In a hyper-aware state, she seems to not notice as two bikes knock her and John to the floor. She moans as she fights to stay conscious. Ramona pulls John off the floor and runs to Sherlock, to see a crowd of paramedics and bystanders.

"No, god, no, please no." She whispers as she tries to push through the crowd. They push her back but struggling, they get to Sherlock. Or Sherlock's body. Her organs drop to her toes in one swift movement, seeing him lying there, cold. People try to pull them back, but she kneels there, reaching out to feel his pulse. She starts to sob as she feels hands grabbing her wrists. "No, no please, he's my- Get off me!" She shouts, tears slipping from her big blue eyes. " There was no pulse. Nothing. It was sickly and disgusting. The crows eventually pushed her back as he was wheeled away. She tries to stand, but her legs falter and she slides down the wall of the hospital, bystanders trying to comfort them. She held her blonde hair in her hands frantically, slightly rocking herself, gritting her teeth as she felt her chin being pulled down, wobbling with desperation. "No, oh my god, no, Jesus... nnghh." She desperately grabs onto John, as if she would sink into the pavement below her if she hadn't.

Ramona stood at the black marble grave. She stared at it with dead, red and hollow eyes. She feels the sadness in her spine, where she had once felt shivers when he tucked her hair behind her ear. And then she cried. She cried the kind of tears that you don't have to sob for. The kind when it makes your chin wobble and your eyes itch and you go blind from the veil of tears in your eyes. The kind where when you try and swallow the lump in your throat, it comes out on your tounge and renders you speechless. The knd where tears fall regardless of your permission and you feel hollowness in all your bones and veins and you cant even sob becuase the next lump in your throat is blocking your airways. She didn't even try to stop the tears fall because she knew there would be another to replace it. And another. And another. And another. She started sobbing violently and quietly, her shoulders shaking roughly. She wanted to speak to him, but she realised she didn't know what to say. What do you say to a man who used to be hot and cold? A man that you're not sure would even visit your grave. She stopped sobbing suddenly, but the tears continues to fall, regardless of her speaking. "So this is how it ends. You down there, and me... Me up here." She gaxed hopelessly at the shiny stone. "I always felt like I didn't care, but I guess I did. I do. I just-" Another desperate sob escaped her, as her voice turned into a whisper. "I just don't want you to be dead. Please, I don't care about your lies. Please, please." She started mouthing words that wouldn't come out. "Please just come back to me. To us." She started to smile, remembering him. "I just want your human limbs in the fridge, your two am wall shootings, your dressing gowns, your hair, your coat and scarf," More tears streamed down her face, leaving her cheeks salty. "I just- Sherlock I..." Her voice turned to a whisper again, so much she could barely hear herself. "I think I'm in love with you. I- I think I was in love with you." She corrects herself, sobbing again. "You would of said something cynical then, wouldn't you? All I ever think about anymore, is what you would say to me at certain points in the day, what I would say back, how you'd react to things that you would have seen... Jesus Sherlock," She wiped her face in vain, as more tears steadily flowed. "Please, just, don't be dead." She stares again desperately at the grave, before laying down some flowers that she knew he wouldn't of seen the point of. "Goodbye. I'll be visiting you again, but the last word you said to me was goodbye, and I never got to-" She chokes up, the lump in her throat strangling her. "I never got to say it back." She says, before bursting into more violent tears. She closes her eyes painfully, and walks away hesitantly from Sherlock Holmes grave.

* * *

**Sorry! **

**I feel so evil omg :)**

**This isn't the end, don't worry, you just get the same amount of chapters over again :)**

**I felt so sad writing this ugh**

**Please review, I'm really enjoying writing this and would love to know what you think! **


	17. This Charming Man

**Pretty Girls Make Graves**

I don't own Sherlock.

* * *

The most inevitable yet devastating fact happened for Ramona. Life went on. The world kept spinning, the sun rose and fell everyday, as did the moon, although she didn't particularly want them to. She didn't see the need or the point. The next two years passed by Ramona in grey-scale. Everything and everyone were all just background to her sadness. Her devastating, consuming sadness. She hadn't eaten properly at all, and everyone seemed to care except her. She had lost a lot of weight, around a stone, which to her, who was already in a healthy body, made her look very fragile, although she was the extreme polarity. It was getting to the point where you could see her ribs, she could surround her thighs with two hands and her collarbone was so prominent it made people uncomfortable to look at. Her clothes still fit her however, as she still had all of her 'womanly parts', as Hannah had put it when she had confronted her about it. Ramona had rolled her eyes and told her she didn't have anorexia, she had just lost her appetite. Which was of course a massive understatement. Ramona also started forgetting to sleep for days. It got to a point she couldn't distinguish dream from reality, and she walked around like a zombie for two months, before having to drug herself to let herself sleep. The circles around her eyes were like an eclipse of black and grey, making her eyes look bigger so she nearly always looked startled. Her habit of smoking grew much worse, until she grew a fond dependence on alcohol whenever she felt her mind drift to the topic of him, the consulting detective, who came into her life and ruined it in such a short space of time.

She was walking through the London streets when she thought she saw black curly hair above the crowd. She pushed her way past crowds of people, slightly shouting, to get to a man looking at her strangely. One that was not Sherlock. She sighed and walked away, still feeling empty. Everything reminded her of him. A long coat, a deep voice, even her own reflection. With the loss of weight, she had got herself a pair of cheekbones, that reminded her of him. But the worst part was, she wasn't going to move out. Every day, she had to past the black door, like it was taunting her, laughing at how foolish she could of been to ever have a connection with Sherlock Holmes.

After the six months mark Ramona saw a motorbike fly past her, whizzing and racing and dodging in between cars as she looked on in awe. The month after that she owned her own black matte and glossy super sports bike. She honestly didn't care how many speeding tickets she got, she just wanted to be able to race around and actually feel something and not be a shell of a person that she had been.

At her worst point, she didn't want life anymore. Ramona remembers standing there, on the hospital roof at three am, and peering down, and seeing what he must of saw. She remembers taking a deep, slow breath and counting to ten. She looks down at the pavement and the scene with the crowd and the body and John and the hands on wrists and the disappeared pulse and the goodbye and the tail coat flying and Sherlock NO! Ramona remembers breaking down into a panic attack, into tears that engulfed her mind, and all she could feel was the cold, unforgiving wind, and her eyes stinging from it. She remembers crying herself to sleep on the roof, and waking up to the rain, pattering at first on her face, and then turning torrential, and washing away the tear stains on her face so she could go home saying she spent the night at Toby's to Hannah and Hannah smiling and teasing her and her staring at herself in the mirror and seeing nothing but Sherlock Sherlock Sherlock.

**Still Ill**

* * *

"So, what brings you back?" Her therapist asked Ramona politely, notepad poised as she sat on the leather sofa, feeling uncomfortable.

"I'm not back for the same reason." The mans green eyes flickered to hers as his nose twitched slightly.

"Well that narrows things down. What is it?"

She stares at the oak floor with wide eyes. "My friend died. Killed himself. No explanation."

"And how does that make you feel?" His pen makes movements on the notepad.

"Angry. Sad. Confused."

"Have you become bad again?" He asks her, trying to read her guarded expression.

She ignored his question. "They're the only emotions I can feel anymore, and only when I think about that. I'm walking around like a zombie, and I can't remember the last time I felt something. Is that normal?"

"So maybe what's happened is-"

"No, answer my question. Is it normal?"

"Everyone has different reactions to traumatic experiences. Yours has been to cut yourself off from all feeling, to try and punish yourself for something that was never your fault."

Ramona felt a lump in her throat as her voice became strained. "But, what if it was? I could of saved him, I could of-"

"But you didn't, Ramona. The past is the past, and we have to accept it. It's out of your hands now. You have to forgive yourself. Apart from that, do you have any regrets?"

She shakes her head. "I never got to tell him- I never told him what I needed to. It was-" Her voice trembles under the weight of tears. "It was so important. I don't know what he would of said, and now I never will."

"Would you like to say it now?"

"What difference does it make? He's- He's dead now."

He writes something else onto his pad and looks back up to her. "You ignored my question earlier on. Are you bad again?"

She met his eyes. "Did I ever actually recover?"

Toby was in her life, and that was one of the highlights of it. They were officially a couple and he supported her throughout what some people may call a depression. And she loved him, but not passionately. She loved him comfortably and casually.

John never visited. She could understand why, . She reminded him of Sherlock. How could she not? It was alright though, because they had the occasional call, and the feelings were also mutual. John was the biggest trigger of her memories, which she hated. Ramona kept them locked away in a dark place in her mind palace. She kept them locked so tight, along with Sherlock. She occasionally visited him in her dreams, and watched his face move into a smile, a smirk, watched words form, and then she would have to leave him eventually every time, and she never wanted to.

She was angry at him. She was confused. But most of all, Ramona just missed him. When she came to the misfortune of having the task of thinking about him, she had that awful tugging feeling in her chest, where you want something so much it physically hurts. He managed to hurt her even when he was rotting away in a wooden box six feet under. And that's as romantically as she could put it. When she wanted to be with him, when she was sad, she would go downstairs or to his grave, and tell him everything that had happened, as if she was expecting a response. In the first few months, she would sneak out at night to either downstairs or the cemetery.

**Cemetry gates**

* * *

Ramona closed her eyes and took a few deep breaths in her room. The next thing she knew, she was in the graveyard, lying down on her back next to Sherlock. Or what used to be Sherlock. She looked up at the dark night sky, and all the stars. She sighed and took off her jacket, wanting to feel the cold air against her skin.

"It's beautiful, isn't it?" She said to him. "You'd secretly love this. I know it." She pulled out some flowers she had taken from the vase in the flat, and put them next to the marble head stone. "I brought these for you, I don't particularly know why. Its one of those customs, though." She sighed and shook her head. "This really isn't healthy, I need to stop doing this. What are you going to do? Reply?" She watched the trees sway in the frosty breeze, and all the distant lights of the city in the far distance. "Most people'd be scared. I'm either brave, or unbelievably stupid. Isn't that what everyone thinks when they get involved with you?" She shrugs. "I might be joining you shortly. Got myself a motorbike." She laughs humorlessly. "And my therapist calls me self-destructive." There's a clear, transparent silence which involves her staring up into the sky. The night has a way of doing that. Making everything so transparent and beautiful. "Look at what you've done. You ruined me. I'm a twenty-five year old woman that comes and lies in a graveyard every other night for shits and giggles." Ramona stays silent for the rest of the time. She watches the dawn come. It was a pretty sunrise, one consisting of lots of different colours. But she didn't feel it. She still felt like it was winter, even though it was the middle of summer. As the first person arrives, she gets up and says goodbye to her late consulting detective, and leaves too hesitantly for a young person.

**Back To The Old House**

* * *

"Ray?" Ramona looked up to see her friend and boyfriend stood there smiling at her, like two loyal golden retrievers panting away their tongues. She looked back down to her book on the dining table.

"Yes?" They sat down at the table.

"We were wondering, if we could take Sherlock's flat." She looked up with an appalled face at the two.

"What! No! Absoloutely- Do you have no respect?"

"It's been two years, Ray..." Hannah's voice trailed off. She felt shock at this. It felt like last week they had been running from police, fugitives holding each others hand.

Ramona sighed at the girl. "No." Hannah made a face like she was going to crack in half. "Fine. I'll live there. You can take this place." She swallowed and looked back to her books. Hannah frowned.

"Will you be okay down there?"

"Yes. I cleared Sherlock's name long ago, and I'm going to graduate soon, so I'm going to have to start my work soon." By her work she meant carrying on Sherlock's. But it wasn't his anymore, she guessed.

"Oh, right. I'm sorry about this Ray, I didn't think it'd end up like thi-" Ramona decides to save bad feelings for herself.

"It's fine, really. It'll be cool to have my own place." She smiled falsely.

Ramona opened the black door of 221B, that hadn't been opened in years. She started to cough instantly. He had always hated Mrs Hudson dusting. She threw open one of the blinds, revealing more big specs of dust floating in the air. She smiled sadly at the boxes of lab equipment and all his stuff that had just been left there, like he was coming back to get them. Ramona wonders for a second if she could do this. If she could sit in his chair, and watch his television and sleep in his bedroom. She quickly decided she wouldn't touch the bedroom, and that she would use John's. She opened the door to Sherlock's room, careful, as if not to wake him. What a beautiful sight that would be. She looks at all the pictures on the wall. Her favourite was the one of Mycroft and him, shaking hand's at school or something. Their hair was absoloutely dire, and she smiled. She stubbed her toe on something hard, and after a series of swears and several hops, she bent down to pick up the heavy black box that was the size of a shoe box. On opening it, she found nothing that meant anything to her, except a newspaper clipping. the woman picked it up with long fingers, and frowned when she saw it was a picture of her and Sherlock. They were smiling at each other, practically grinning mischievously. It dated around two years old. She winced at the time. They looked so happy, that it was painful to think of what was to come. Ramona had gotten a full fringe since then, and admittedly, it framed her face better. She had came to that conclusion, as she had been scouted on the street for modelling seven times this year. But then again, they would look for someone who looked underfed, like an insomniac, and a death stare to suit.

The woman settled in to the flat quickly, moving Sherlock's boxes of stuff into his room, and vowing to never go in. She would often pick a book at random and start reading it, because if he had read and kept them, they must be bloody good. And they were.

Ramona started the detective business quickly, and people flocked after hearing about another detective starting up at Baker Street. Most of it was boring and took her about ten minutes, but it was worth it for the money and publicity. She found herself needing an assistant, and lacking one. She used to have her Watson, but her Watson was currently all lovey-dovey upstairs, and she wouldn't take part in it. She looks out of her window to see the original Watson walk to their door, and hears Mrs Hudson answer. Ramona realises that they're going to eventually want to come up here. She looks around, and quickly starts darting around, cleaning things up. She looks at the skull and blows on the top of his head, dusting him off. She gets changed into something more presentable, and sits at the kitchen table (Which was clear of all scientific instruments.) And sat there reading the paper, and sipping her tea. The door was knocked on and Ramona opened the door tentatively, unsure of Johns reaction. It was slow and unbelieving. Not the best.

"Hello." She says.

"Hey." They stare at each other for a few seconds blankly, before they go for a hug. "I've bloody missed you."

"I've missed you more mate." She answers.

"You look... Older." She smiles forgivingly at the man.

"Don't push it, or I'll have to start on that." She points to his moustache jokingly, and they both giggle. "Please, come in. I- I haven't changed it a lot yet." That was an understatement. It felt like living in a museum. He looked around, memories obviously flying around him.

"So, why now? What changed your mind?" Mrs Hudson asked. Ramona already knew the answer, which was obvious from how he was acting.

"Well, I've got some news."

"Oh, God. Is it serious?"

"Oh, no. I'm moving on."

"You're emigrating." Mrs Hudson said sadly.

Ramona laughed. "God no. He's going to propose. He has a girlfriend."

"A girlfriend?" She says.

"Well, yes." He frowns confusedly, as he looks at her expression and sigh's. "Listen to me: I am not gay!"

**Heaven Knows I'm Miserable Now**

* * *

Ramona sits in the chair she took from upstairs that she had placed between John's and Sherlock's, as if they were coming back. She checks her watch in a weird way, as she always positions it with the face the inside of her wrist. Half past six. Ramona sighs as she tries to read her book, but keeps having to read the same page as she's never paying attention each time. Eventually she huffs and sets it down, quickly pulling on a Harrington jacket and leaving.

She sits at the bar alone, looking very alone and very dangerous. She was admittedly in a complete dive, a last chance saloon. Looking around, she saw three broke divorcees, two druggies, one alcoholic, _and a partridge in a pear tree. _She thought sarcastically. The man sat two bar stools away turns to her.

"And who're you trying to forget?" He asked in an accent that was tinged with Scottish. She raised an eyebrow.

"Why'd you think that?" She asks, looking down into her empty glass.

"A girl like you, in a dive like this? Something bad happened to you. Boyfriend die?" his hair was streaked with grey.

She laughed humourlessly. "A friend."

"No one comes here for just a friend, darling." He takes a swig of his drink.

"Don't they?" She asks.

"No, they don't."

"Girlfriend dumped you for good?"

"How- how did you-"

She shrugs. "A thing I can do." There's a silence for half a minute.

"Listen, best advice I can give, don't come here twice. It becomes something of a habit."

"This is my sixth visit." She said in an emotionless tone.

"It's too late to save you, then."

She laughed shortly. "You don't say?"

"A girl like you shouldn't talk with such a dead voice." She rolls her eyes at the man.

"And what is a 'girl like me' like exactly?" She asks, before paying and walking out.

**This Charming Man**

* * *

Ramona stumbles into the flat, slightly intoxicated. She goes straight to her bedroom, and stops in the hallway, frowning and walking back. Was someone in the living room? She walks backwards cautiously, and peers to see him, standing there.

"Hello, Ramona." A familiar baritone voice says. She stares for six seconds, until laughing humourlessly in a dangerously dead tone.

"Didn't realise I was this drunk. You've never talked before, however. Didn't know hallucinations could do that." She stares at him and smiles sadly, tears filling up in her blue eyes. "Say something else, please."

"This isn't a hallucination. Although I am flattered that I've been one in the past." He said, turning and standing up, walking towards her. She noticed he was more built now, less skinny and more muscle than before. Her illusions had gotten more attractive.

She sighed happily and gave a sad smile. "Always loved that voice. Deep and gravelly. Never thought I'd hear it again. I didn't know my memory was this good. Should do this more often." She stares at him, poking him and then frowning, confused. She took his face in her hands, studying it. Ramona sniffed him slightly, and suddenly her eyes widened in shock as she pushed him away from her, walking back slowly. Her gaze turned blurry as she stared at him. He smirked. "You- I-"

"I'm real."

"No." She shook her head as her breaths turned fast. "No, you're dead. I- I saw you die."

"You didn't."

"So, what? You- where have you been, Sherlock!"

"Not here."

"Well that's a bit bloody obvious, isn't it!" Her thin hands started to tremble slightly. Ramona closed her eyes and tried to catch her breath, taking deeper ones.

Sherlock looked awkward. "Bit mean, springing this on you, I know. But it was funny."

"So, what? You just let me think you were dead? Let me mourn? Let me- you left me. You fucking left me, Sherlock. Why? Why didn't you tell me?"

"I thought about contacting you constantly-"

"But you didn't, did you?" Ramona says. "Two words. One text, a call, anything to just let me know! Let me know you were okay!"

Sherlock bit his lips. "It seems I owe you an apology. I had no idea you'd be so affected."

"Are you- Are you having a fucking laugh?" She cries incredulously. "You think that makes it okay?" He looked down at his shoes. "Two years Sherlock! Two bloody years, you let me believe you were- I thought you were... Oh Jesus Christ, Oh God..." Her voice trailed off as she leant on the wall for support.

"I- I-"

"I- I-" She said in a mock deep voice, trying to impersonate the man. "You're an idiot. A genius idiot. I hate you. I hate you so much right now."

She turned to leave the room, as he grabbed her arm to stop her. She froze and tensed and looked down at his hand, slowly looking up to his face with a dark glare. "Get. Off. Me." She growled. Sherlock slowly took his hand off her.

"Stop over-reacting." He tells her.

"Over reacting?" She asks. "Over-reacting?!" She asks, louder. "You fake your own death, don't tell me, waltz back in here large as bloody life, and I'm over reacting?" She pauses. "Who knew?"

"Mycroft. Molly. Some of the homeless network."

"Oh, alright then. Your brother, Molly, and a couple of tramps. No big deal." She says, passive aggressively. "Why not me? Do you realise what I- what I..." She couldn't admit how affected she was by his loss.

"The real question here is why you went to that dreadful bar."

"It was for a case, obviously." She lies.

He looks at her with raised eyebrows. "Right."

There's a silence. "Don't give me that look, Sherlock." He carries on. "I said stop! You can't do this to me and then make me feel ashamed."

He leans in suddenly to study her, looking into her eyes and then letting his eyes wander her face. "You haven't been sleeping." She folded her arms and gave him a guarded expression. "You haven't been eating." She looks down. "Is this because of me?"

She felt like telling him everything, how she almost killed herself. Ramona thinks about what would of happened if she had. Would he have cared in the slightest? Would the plot be something to resemble Romeo &amp; Juliet? She frowned, shaking the thought out of her head. "I'm not in the mood, Sherlock."

"You're always in the mood."

"Fine. You've been abroad. Eastern Europe. Russia?" She pulls up one of his sleeves to reveal bruises and cuts. Her eyes widen as she frowns. "You've gotten a beating." She presses on his stomach, making him wince. "Recently. still in pain." He pulls his arm away, turning his gaze to the kitchen over her shoulder.

"Did you miss me?" He smirks.

"Of course I- So why are you back?"

"There's a terrorist cell operating in London. Admit it. You've missed this. The thrill of the chase, us against the world-"

She put a hand to his mouth, muffling his voice, and leaning in, glaring at him dangerously. "Don't. Unless you want me to kill you for real, I suggest you don't." His eyes widened, and then she felt a smile on her hand which she retracted.

"There she is. Knew you were in there somewhere." He goes to sit on the couch. "Welcome back, Ramona." She gritted her teeth.

After brushing her teeth and getting into pyjamas, she went into the living room to sit with him, to find an asleep Sherlock on the sofa, looking adorable with his hair messy. Ramona narrowed her eyes at his ability to worm his way under her skin. The woman sat at her chair, smiling as she watched his chest slowly rise and fall. He was alive. Sherlock was sleeping on the couch, in his suit. What a sight for sore eyes.

"Stop watching me sleep, you're putting me off." He muttered, his eyes still closed. Ramona went red and turned to her book, before drifting off naturally in the first time in years.

* * *

**This was so sad to write leave me to cry**

**I couldn't go one chapter without Sherlock Sorry**

**The songs that I put as titles are literally all The Smiths this chapter, because now she's about as miserable as Morrissey if that's possible **

**Thanks so much for reading and reviewing, it means so much :)**


	18. I am The Resurrection

**I am The Ressurection - The Stone Roses**

* * *

_"Aren't you going to ask me how I did it?" Sherlock asked her, smiling from his chair. Sherlock's hair is slightly ruffled, and her sight is blurry as a certain blue hue descends on both of them, leaving her feeling slightly de-humanized in the ethereal scene._

_"Alright then, how did you do it?" Ramona asks him, feeling like the words were coming out of her whether she wanted them to or not, as if reading from a non-existent script._

_He smiles sadly at her. "I didn't." Sherlock's figure slowly fades away from the chair, his blue eyes replaced with a certain nothingness, leaving her on her own in the room._

Ramona woke up sweating and panting, tears streaking down her face. She raced out of bed to see if she had been dreaming the entire time. Running into the living room, she is greeted with Sherlock sat at the dining table in his usual suit and dressing gown ensemble. She sighed and felt her body relax with relief as he frowned at the state of her.

"What's wrong?" He asks her.

She suddenly realises how much of a mess she must look. "Nothing. Just a dream. A- a nightmare." The girl races back to have a shower and get ready.

Coming out of the shower, she hears Sherlock's baritone frequency drifting from the living room. "Oh, I don't know. I thought perhaps you might have found yourself a ... goldfish."

She frowns as she hears Mycroft reply. "Oh, and you haven't?" She wondered if this was some sort of code name for something highly classified. "Oh come now, Sherlock. I may not partake in them, but that doesn't mean I am completely oblivious to human emotion."

"Don't be absurd, Mycroft." Ramona inches further so she can hear better.

"I can read you like a book."

"Change the subject. Now." She slowly creeps back to her room slowly and silently. Toby was coming over as they were going out for coffee.

Ramona walks into the living room to hear another snippet of conversation, and Sherlock wearing a nervous creature of habit's hat. "...I'm not lonely, Sherlock." Says Mycroft incredulously.

"How would you- Hello Ramona." Sherlock visibly changes his stance and takes the ridiculous hat off, and she sees Mycroft smirk at him.

"Good morning." She replies, as Mycroft moves to shake her hand.

"Ramona. It's been an age." He says, a half smile on his face.

"It has indeed." Ramona replies.

"Anyway, back to work. Good morning." He says, and graciously exits as Sherlock turns to the wall behind the sofa.

"Yes. Back to work."

"What's this for?"

"The terror threat to London."

She nods. "Ah. These are your markers."

He hands her a black marker. "Cross that man out for me." He points at a picture.

"So, have you been to see John yet?" She asks as she draws a cross over a picture of a bald man.

"Mm?" He says absent-minded, before looking up from his phone. "Oh, yes."

"And what did he say?"

"You're too young for language like that." He says, making her smile.

"Oh." She states, and then shrugs. "He'll come round." Ramona hops off the couch slightly eccentrically. "Always does." She smiles at him, and he goes to speak before she walks to the door and opens it, where Toby is stood, poised to knock with his right hand up. His expression instantly softens and then hardens to stones after setting them on Sherlock. The resurrected detective smiles sarcastically.

"You're- You're supposed to be dead." He turns to her who's smiling lovingly, like how you'd look at a pet that's doing something stupid. "He's supposed to be dead!" Toby always looked like he slightly resembled a Labrador, loyal, cute, happy, and a bit slow if she was honest. His black hair was now pulled into a quiff stylishly, as his deep brown eyes searched her blue orbs in vain. Toby's lean figure was dressed in a white shirt slightly tucked into a pair of black skinny jeans. Ramona frowned for a second, realising that he was hers, and that it didn't particularly excite her. Why didn't it excite her?

"Sorry to disappoint." Sherlock quips, his voice almost as sharp as his harsh eyes that only held frost for Toby.

"You're dead." He states.

"Oh no, really I am alive, I checked." Toby frowns ridiculously before he turns to her.

"How is he..."

"Honestly, I'm not sure." She said. The curiosity was killing her, but she had summarised that there were thirteen possible scenarios in her times of denial. She physically cringes at all the wasted emotion heaped upon the seemingly dead consulting detective.

"Do you want to know?" He asks her, walking over whilst maintaining eyes that held her in place like a clamp. His body language was so that he could exclude Toby from their conversation without even putting his back to him.

Her eyes widen as she hears the echo from her dream. a tight clamp of fear suddenly replace her ribs and she shakes her head. "Honestly, I don't care that much. As long as you did it."

Sherlock frowns with narrowed eyes, but before he can reply, Toby takes her hand, intertwining his fingers with hers. Sherlock looks down at the endearment and visibly swallows before looking away with a clenched jaw. "Ready to go then?" Toby smiles unknowingly.

Sherlock's frown deepens. "But I was going to ask if you wanted to help solve crimes with me and Molly." He almost pouts.

"Molly? Is she your new partner?" Ramona was more than upset if this was the case. Admittedly, she would of been jealous. But who wouldn't of been?

Sherlock shrugs. "Just trying it out." His eyes don't spare a moment for Toby, as if he wasn't even in the room.

She gives him a warning look. "Just make sure she doesn't fall back in love with you. She's got a good thing going with that fiancee of hers. However, looking at him, I'd say she never really got over you..." Toby chuckled, nodding, as Sherlock stared harshly in his direction. Ramona wondered what his need was to constantly be alpha male. He had always hated Toby, but why? _Please be jealous please be jealous please be jealous. _The thought ran through her so quickly and mercilessly that it made her eyes widen. Why would she want him to be jealous? Was she in the same boat as Molly? _Great, now you're comparing yourself to Molly. Good job._

Toby suddenly frowns. "Wait... So, you're living here again?"

"Yes." Answers Sherlock shortly, only glancing at him with extreme power, as if trying to assert his superiority over the boy. _As if that needed provin- SHUT UP! Toby is amazing and kind and cute and wonderful, Sherlock on the other hand left me to cry over him for two year. I did not cry. Okay I did. Only a bit though. _She knew as well as the next that she was lying to herself.

Toby folds his arms. "Well, you're going to have to move out." Ramona frowns and looks up at him.

"Why would I do that?" She asks. Sherlock smirks ridiculously, as if he'd just seen his worst enemy pull the tab off a hand grenade and stick it down their pants.

"It's a bit weird, don't you think?" Toby says with narrowed eyes.

She sighs quietly and grabs his wrist, dragging him out of the building. "We'll talk about this later." Leaving Sherlock smirking to himself.

"So, what are you actually going to do?" Asks Toby, sitting at a round table in the cafe.

"Well, I'm not moving out." She glanced around to the woman she knew was going to check her appearance in approximately fifteen seconds. The woman was obviously waiting for an old friend, apparent from her fingernails and the colour of her handbag.

"Look, he's going to get you into danger, or even worse. He's nothing but trouble, Ray." He said, as if he owned her.

"He's really not. If anything, I should be there to keep him out of trouble." _Sherlock is the match to your lighter, Ramona. You're different, but at heart you hold the same purpose. You're playing with fire and fighting fire with fire. All around, it is a lot of fire. That probably means Toby would be a hose, or a wet towel? That was way too harsh, and you know it. He is pretty exciting, he's a future banker! Ugh, don't even try. I can feel my eyelids drooping._

"Why are you defending him? After what he's done to you-"

"I'm not defending him, Toby." _Lie! You couldn't stop defending that idiot if it was the last thing you did. _"I just don't want to move out of that flat. Do you know how expensive property in London is these days?"

"Move in with me then." He said, searching into her eyes, trying to gauge a reaction.

She froze, looking at him with wide eyes. The idea didn't appeal to her at all. _He's a cat person. I want a dog. It wouldn't work._ "Toby, I've always said I wanted to take it-"

"Yes, take it slow, I know. But it's been three years, that's more than slow."

_Jesus. _She thought. _Has it really been three years? _What scared her the most is that she had no desire to move in with him. Yes, he was well off, and was due to be on a bankers salary anytime soon, meaning his flat was naturally much nicer than hers, if you went for modern stuff. To her, it was like being proposed to. She would never have gone in for stuff like this normally, and she didn't know if she could now. Then she realised that she wanted to live with Sherlock. It excited her immensely. _Have I been leading Toby on this whole time? Has he been a- a rebound guy? I NEVER HAD ANYONE TO REBOUND OFF! Sherlo- I WAS NEVER WITH SHERLOCK! Yeah but you wanted to be. You want to be. You wish you were. You dream about him for god sake. _Ramona waits for another voice to come and defend Toby's honour, but it doesn't. _It doesn't._

"I- I-" She starts.

"Do you have feelings for him, Ramona?" Toby interrupts her. She could tell he was upset.

"What? Of course not! Toby, I like you! Not him. I have no romantic feelings for Sherlock Holmes!" _Lie number 5853 of the day._

Toby laughs, shaking his head desperately, looking around. "So you like me? Three years and you like me?" She took a deep ashamed breath, looking down at the table, swallowing. She had no trouble telling Sherlock's grave that she loved him. Did she not really love Toby? "I don't think you've ever even said it to me!" He looked at her desperately, trying to tell what she was thinking, praying it wasn't as he suspected.

"Toby, I want to enjoy my life before settling down with someone, I-"

"So you haven't settled down with me? Are you trying to say you won't enjoy your life when you're with me?"

Ramona shook her head violently. "No! No, I just," She sighed. "You know I'm rubbish with stuff like this-"

He scoffed. "You don't say!"

"Don't let Sherlock separate us, okay?" She said, placing a hand over his. He looked down at it, and back up at her.

Toby sighed. "But why is he able to in the first place?" He asked, before walking out. She sighed, putting her face in her hands.

Ramona wandered around the city, lost for anything to do. Walking back to the house, a big man shoves past her.

"Oh, excuse you!" She shakes her head, and as she goes to turn back around, a man sticks a needle into her neck. The first person she tried to scream for? Sherlock. She would mentally kick herself for that later.

The heavy branches pushed down onto her chest. Trying to scream, she realised there was no voice to push out. Laughter and chatter of people fill the silence as she tries to push her way out. She started to panic as she realised what was happening. She was in a bonfire. Suddenly, Ramona heard other stressed breaths.

"John?" She whispered, trying to outstretch a hand.

"Ramona!" The trapped girl heard. For some reason, relief filled her. Sherlock would save them. He had to. It was what he did.

He started to try and shout in vain, as she heard footsteps and saw the flickers of a flame. Ramona thanked her lucky stars that she didn't have claustrophobia.

"It's not taking, better help it along." A mans voice says. She closes her eyes and breaths deeply, trying to not go into a panic attack. Ramona had become stronger in the past few years.

She felt what must be petrol on some of her clothes, making her breath even faster. Suddenly, the bonfire had been lit. She was going to die. Toby was right. She was going to die, and she would never grow any older and she had no future and he was not going to save them this time and-

"Ramona!" She heard a baritone voice shout. "John!" Another voice, a woman's. Suddenly leather clad hands are digging her out, and tears in a pair of kaleidoscope eyes as they lay her onto the grass. He then starts to help the blonde woman drag John out of the bonfire. Ramona coughs, and doesn't even try to sit up. The detective is suddenly on his next to her, his breath slightly ragged as he murmurs something to himself over and over. Her vision is double as she thinks she has spotted another world in his eyes. Suddenly she feels something else on her top. He was crying. He was silently crying, watching her and checking she was okay. Ramona watches a pale hand reach up to slightly cup his face and stroke his cheek with her thumb lazily. She thinks he leans into her hand slightly, and she smiles at his eyes closed in relief. He picks a twig from the bonfire out of her messy hair as she retracts her hand. Sherlock pushes her up slightly with one hand on her back. She slightly cringes at the fact he can probably feel her spine, and then even more at the fact that he knows its his fault. He clenches his jaw at this. Her vision comes and goes on a whim as she tries to hear something. All she can see is his outline against the charcoal black sky.

"Are you alright?" She stares at him, dazed. "Ramona? Can you hear me?" His voice continues as she smiles tearfully at the sound. It's all she's wanted to hear for so long. Her eyes look up to the sky and finally she blacks out, leaving Sherlock to struggle to bottle his afraid tears behind gritted teeth and guarded blue eyes.

**Sherlock**

"Jesus Christ, please no, please oh god no, no no no." Sherlock hears himself whisper quickly as he frantically watches her eyes wander up to the sky as they finally close, leaving him alone in the world. Suddenly the detective is shaking and holding her back still, knelt by the unconscious Ramona. One that he was scared wouldn't wake up again. He pulled off his gloves and stuffed them into his coat pocket violently, leaving her lying there without a hand on her back. Sherlock leaned down slightly to put his ear to her chest. He froze for a second, not hearing anything. a streak of fear so huge that it sent pangs down the detectives body. He saw his hands begin to shake violently. Suddenly a beat sent life back into his then corpse, making his eyes close in relief and releasing a breath he didn't know he was holding. Sherlock feels a twist in his chest at the fact she may of felt like that for two years because of him. Even though he knew it wouldn't stop, he stayed there for a moment, listening to her heart beat. It was embarrassingly relaxing for him. His eyes narrowed slightly as he sent two of his fingers to his own wrist. A grin grew widely on the detective as he realised that they matched. Then he snapped out of it. Why would it matter to him? Except it was like they were the same person, like they would die if the other did. Why would he care about that? It was one of the most idiotic ideas he had ever heard in his life. Except it came from him, who had never had one of those, ever.

Sherlock stops his train of thought, and starts to take off his coat, noticing the goosebumps on the girl's arms. Pulling the coat around her, the detective picks her up bridal style and carries her out of the park, promising to himself he could not possibly leave this girl on her own anymore, as she may cause him another inconvenience like this again. And how annoying that would be. _Except, do people cry because they were inconvenienced? You're not a person, Sherlock. _He stares down at the girl in his arms that feels much more lightweight then when this happened before, and cringes at the fact that it was his fault. Sherlock made a note to make her eat more, whether he had to force her or not.

**Ramona**

Ramona felt her eyes open heavily to a mans chin above her. She moaned groggily in confusion, causing the apparent motion of him walking to stop. He looked down at her with a hard to read expression. A sudden smile is on the mans face, a familiar one. she then realised she was being carried by two strong arms. And that she wasn't being put down anytime soon.

"How are you feeling?" The voice said, as he started to walk again.

"I- I've felt better. Pretty... Burnt out, though." Her voice came out as a raspy whisper. Sherlock smelt the same as always, like a new book with a hint of aftershave. She loved the way he smelled. Ramona took an indulgent inhale through her nose, as if snorting cocaine. Maybe it was the same thing.

"Tobias texted you." She frowned slightly at the name. _Tobias? Oh, Toby. Of course, my boyfriend of three years. How did I forget his name but remember how Sherlock smells after two years?_

"Ugh." She said simply, causing the man holding her to smile ridiculously. Suddenly she's being gently lowered onto the couch.

"Sleep it off. I can't have you looking or acting like that tomorrow." He said to the girl with closed eyes, who hears a smile in his voice.

"Is the game on tomorrow by any chance?" She asks him sarcastically with little more than a murmur.

"The game is never truly over, Ramona."

"When did the game start?"

He laughs. "I don't know, whenever you'd like." She can tell he thinks the drug they used to get her in the bonfire hadn't worn out yet. He'd be right.

She yawns and curls up into a ball, his coat completely engulfing her body warmly. Ramona pulled the edges closer to her, and Sherlock watches with an almost pained expression, brows furrowed.

"Sherlock?" She asks sleepily.

"Yes."

"I thought you weren't going to be there tonight." She yawns softly again. "I thought I was going to die." It was strange how Sherlock and death seemed to be interwoven, like a buy one get one free offer that you never asked for. Or maybe secretly, everyone who wants Sherlock wants the danger, the ridiculous thrill of it all.

She hears him sit in his chair. "Well I did, didn't I? You don't have to worry. I will always be there." She slips into unconsciousness even more. "Always." He says softly, before she lets sleep take her.

**Sherlock**

_I was fighting myself to stop staring at the woman curled up in my coat, gently would think she was a work of art, from how still she was sitting and the expression on her face, a sculpture carved into stone by a sculptor that had met the most heartbreakingly beautiful woman and was desperately trying to immortalise her in one of his works. Beautiful? It was surely an understatement for anyone who had the privilege of being in her company, her shadow. She has a perfect golden ratio, the way her big eyes had a perfect distance apart from each other taking up 43% of her face, the size of her nose, the fullness of her lips, her bone structure, which was so prominent I could only resemble her seeming delicateness to a twig wrapped in tissue paper. However, I know for a fact Ramona Doherty is anything but delicate. She is a lion trapped in the body of a lamb, a lamb that could beat you to a pulp if it wished._

_She had been the only thing I could think about during my time dismantling Moriarty's network. The only thing that got me past the torture, the unforgiving cold. The only thing that kept the frost from really biting, what kept me from freezing. Maybe I meant that literally and figuratively. I'd found out what desperation really was in those two years, what it felt like for your chest to try and pull you back to them, the tears that you knew wouldn't bring them to you. When Mycroft had 'saved' me, I'd felt excitement like nothing before. Something that could never compare to the thrill of the chase. I'd practiced our reunion over and over again for an hour twenty three minutes and forty seven seconds, and I was still nervous when I saw her for the first time in years, saw the shock and how her face contorted to anger. _

_Never before had everything been so blurry for me, so hazy. Everything passed and it was all just a backdrop to her. Everything. Never before had clarity been so distant from my mind, and never before had I cared so little. I had felt jealousy for the first time because of her. I had felt petty, burning hate because of her, and I still wanted to be around her. Admittedly whenever we 'bumped' into each other, it had been me following her. I had tried to reason with myself it was only curiousity because I couldn't deduce her. But it wasn't. I was concerned. No, I wasn't. I was curious. Only natural. This woman was poison to my superior intellect, she diluted my knowledge with only unnecessary thoughts. She was and is an obstacle to cross, nothing more. A test. I am married to my work, and on occasion people, but only for my work. Why do you think about her so much then? After that question, my mind always goes blank. _

_What would even be the point of her glancing my way twice? She deserves someone who doesn't get her put in bonfires, someone who can give her safety, a future, happiness, security. I can give her none of these. I can try, but I can't. She deserves Tobias, but by no means does he deserve her. No one can or ever will. Someone like that comes every so often and ruins everything you thought was important, but suddenly its not anymore. Because they're there. And then they leave. And you're left with nothing. I am that person, and I did that to her. I hate myself for it. Tobias is everything I could never be. Warm, kind, safe... Boring. Dull. Predictable. Honestly, I'm trying not to drift off just thinking about him. I'm so sure she's going out with him out of pity... What can she possibly see in him? His intelligence pales in comparison to mine, however his appearance is what women would find attractive, his income I have estimated is below mine, however he hasn't gotten a proper job yet. He's what people may class as a decent person... Great, so far, I'm clever and hes a rich nice good looking boy of her age. Ah, yes, and of course the age gap. The merciless age gap. There were seven years between the two of us, for crying out loud. Who wants to be seen running around London with an old man? As I have previously stated, definitely not me. She was so frustrating, it was ridiculous. Why does she make me feel so... Unsure? I know I should be afraid of how she makes me doubt what I should have know within five seconds of us meeting, but all it does is fuel my curiosity and chase away my boredom. I could spend an eternity thinking about her, studying her, and I don't think I could ever tire of her. How do I normally find answers? Play games with the subject, experiment on them. Experiment on them. Experimenting on Ramona. Her experimenting with me... Bloody hell, I need something to do, and I need it fast. A case. A case would be good at this point in time. Although, I suppose I already have one, and it's sitting right in front of me. It's sat so perfectly under my nose._

**Ramona**

The next morning, Ramona walks out of the bathroom fully dressed and ready, to be addressed with the sight of two old people sat on the couch, and Sherlock sat in his armchair, drumming his fingers, and deliberately sighing from time to time. His eyes instantly shoot open realising she's there.

"Ramona!" He exclaims.

"Good morning." She says with a smile, greeting the two, who stand up politely.

"Hello!" Says the woman happily.

"We've heard so much about you." He shakes her hand as the girl smiles and turns to Sherlock.

"Oh, have you now?" She asks, almost to Sherlock who looks away, embarrassed.

He closes his eyes almost painfully. "This one never shuts up about you!" Exclaims the woman, gesturing to the mortified consulting detective.

"You must be Sherlock's parents." She says, grinning.

The man turns to Sherlock. "She's as clever as you said!"

"We're so glad he's finally found someone." The woman says. She frowns and goes to correct them as she thinks she see's Sherlock go red. _Did he just blush? This is too funny. _

"Oh, no. We're not together." She laughs and goes to sit at the desk. _It wouldn't be bad though, would it? _

He flails his legs and gets up suddenly. "Anyway, they were just leaving." _We could go out on weekends, and more importantly solve crimes on weekdays, and then come home and- I need to go to church this Sunday._

"Oh, were we?" Asks the woman.

He herds the couple to the door. "Yes."

"Yeah, well, we're here 'til Saturday, remember." She waves at Ramona who reciprocates, beaming.

"Yes, great, wonderful. Just get out."

"Just give us a ring." He bundles them into the hallway and Ramona turns round to look out of the window.

The door slams shut after a few hissed words from Sherlock that she found to be hilarious. Ramona smirked, unbelieving that two people so normal could have raised two children so... Abnormal.

"You don't shut up about me, do you?" Ramona asks teasingly as she sits at the desk and opens her laptop as it powers to life.

"Oh shut up." She raised her eyebrows almost to share a look with the laptop screen as he looked out of the window.

"I've never seen you go red before." The girl smirked, loving the upper hand at a game that was all too often directed at her.

"I did not- I do not go red." He stated stiffly.

"I have evidence that disproves that theory, Mr Holmes." He growls and turns to the paperwork on the wall. Ramona knew by now he'd be smiling to himself. He suddenly throws himself round.

"You're left handed!" He points, as if he'd figured out the meaning of life.

She frowns and then smiles. "Ambidextrous." Ramona shakes her head. "You're really slipping y'know. After all this time you still don't know what hand I use to write?" _Should I be happy or sad about this? Am I good at hiding things like that, or does he just not pay any attention to me whatsoever?_

Sherlock shows her the footage of Moran getting on but not off the train. She frowns in confusion and straightens up. "Yeah, that's ... odd. There's nowhere he could have got off?"

"Not according to the maps." He answers.

"Mm." Mutters Ramona, slightly closing her eyes trying to remember all the underground maps she had memorized one night boredom had taken her over.

"There's something" Sherlock starts, but stutters slightly after seeing her in utter concentration "– something, something I'm missing, something staring me in the face."

He turns to the wall again where Ramona is stood but then his phone beeps. He takes it out of his pocket. "Our rat's just come out of his den." Sherlock says checking his phone.

"Al-Qaeda; the IRA have been getting restless again – maybe they're gonna make an appearance..." Her voice trails into silence. Ramona's eyes widen as she checks her phone to reveal the date. "Wait, Sherlock?" He snaps to her. "What was the exact description of the network?"

"An underground network. Just an undergrou-" He cuts off, his blue eyes widen as he starts to grin at the woman.

"Brilliant! Just brilliant!" He cries.

"Sherlock..." She begins, wary.

"Yes?" He snaps out of his celebration.

"Sherlock, the date." His eyes widen. "There's a terrorism bill going to be passed in Westminster tonight..."

"Lord Moran obviously won't be attending." Sherlock states.

"Remember remember the fifth of November." She starts to straighten up.

"Gunpowder treason and plot." Sherlock finishes the age-old rhyme, looking at her with curious eyes.

Sherlock was on skype to this train nut whilst Ramona paced around the room, searching the maps in her mind for something small in the area around the indicated incident. Suddenly her phone's ringing. She smiles apologetically and holds up a finger to the two before stepping out and answering it.

"Hello?"

"Yeah, er... It's me." She hears Toby's voice down the clear line.

"Oh, um, look, I'm on a case right now, so if we could just do this later-"

"You always do this."

"...What?"

"You always push things away because your on a case."

"I don't think you understand how-"

"No, of course I don't. Because I'm just stupid, non-genius Toby, aren't I? Just cos' I don't have a bloody mind palace-"

"Toby, no. You know that isn't true. The case that we have right now, this is life or death for a lot of people, Toby. Please you have to understand."

"Fine. Just, be careful."

"I always am."

She hears a laugh. "Right. Run along now, go solve me a case."

"I couldn't not if I tried, love." She smiles and ends the call. Ramona now realises why Sherlock doesn't bother with relationships. She was going to have to end it soon, and she hated how she had treated him, she was disgusted with herself, actually. These kind of things were what made people soft as water as hard as stone. She knew this from experience.

The next thing she knew they were down in the underground, walking along the track. It smelled damp and felt slightly humid, like it always does down here anyway. Sherlock as of course leading the way, and she was pointing her torch at nothing in particular in the dark tunnel.

"I still think we should of called the police." She mutters to no one in particular.

They don't have to walk far until they reach the missing carriage, partly hidden behind a corner. Walking further, Ramona glances upwards, suddenly freezing as she casts her torch up to the large open vent above.

"Oh shit." She mutters, causing Sherlock to turn around, about to tell her off, until he follows her torchlight.

"Demolition charges." He says. There are several small explosive devices attached to the sides of the vent.

When they reach the carriage, She squats down to check the underside for explosive, whilst Sherlock's looking down the sides. Ramona opens the door to the driver's cab and Sherlock follows her, climbing in and then going carefully through the opposite door into the carriage itself. She instantly spots a pair of intertwined black and red cables strung along the wall, as does Sherlock. She goes to gently pull off the cushion on the seat. Ramona gasps and her breath starts to quicken, realising what's going on. She stands up and lifts the whole cushion up, to reveal the cavity underneath, carrying wired explosive.

"This is the bomb." She states, mortified.

"It's not carrying explosives. The whole compartment is the bomb." Sherlock finishes. They work their way around the carriage, pulling cushions off to reveal more explosive. Ramona walks along the carriage, to almost trip when she crosses over a loose panel in the floor. Bending down, she pulls it off, to reveal the mother bomb. She swallows and looks back up to Sherlock, who was watching her.

"We need bomb disposal." She props the panel at the side of the carriage.

"There may not be time for that now." Sherlock admits. Her breath catches in her throat worriedly as she inhales.

"So what do we do?" Ramona asks, hoping for a clear and well informed answer.

There's a long pause. "I don't know." Not exactly what she wanted.

"Well you're going to have to think of something." Ramona says sternly.

"Why d'you think I know what to do?" Sherlock asks.

"Because you're Sherlock Holmes. You're as clever as me." She states.

"Doesn't mean I know how to defuse a giant bomb. what about you?"

"I'm a university student who has a part time job. Why would I know how?"

Sherlock sighs. "And my equal, as you like to remind everyone." He flashes his torch at her. Did he just call her his equal? Was that... recognition?

She looks down at the timer. "Can't- can't we rip the timer off, or something?"

"That would set it off." Sherlock says.

"See? You know things." Ramona says. Sherlock turns away with a sigh.

Suddenly all the lights come on and the countdown begins. They look around in shock and she groans in despair.

"Er..." Sherlock begins.

She's breathing fast and panicking. "My god!"

Sherlock paces away from him. "Er..." _He still manages to look like that in a situation like this. Why am I thinking about that? C'mon, I must know how to do this somehow. It's just a bomb, there must be a wire to cut or somethi- Oh, who am I trying to kid? I'm going to die, Jesus. Sherlock returns for three days and I've already been in mortal peril twice. Toby's so right. _

"Why didn't you just call the police?" She asks, devastated at the situation.

"Please just..."

"Why do you never call the police?" She repeats. _He's killed me. I'm going to be dead in less than two minutes._

"Well it's no use now." He thinks for a second, and turns to her. "I knew you shouldn't of come." She frowns incredulously.

"What, this is my fault is it?"

"You need to go, now." He gestures to the door. "Go, please. This is my fault."

She shakes her head. "You bloody idiot." He frowns at her. "People are going to die if we don't do this, Sherlock! Westminster is going to be blown to smithereens, and it's too late now, anyway."

**1:57**

Ramona takes a ragged intake of breath. This was it.

"Mind palace." She blurts out.

"How will that help?"

"You've got every fact under the sun sorted away in there." Ramona states.

"What? You think I just have 'how to defuse a bomb' tucked away somewhere?" _Hopefully. _Sherlock thinks about it for a second. "Maybe."

He puts two fingers to each temple, and screws his eyes shut in concentration. She watches him hopefully in silence.

Sherlock cries out in frustration and opens his eyes, dropping his hands back to his sides. He looks at them with a blank but apologetic look. She stares at him in disbelief as she goes to lean on the side of the carriage, devastated.

"This is it." She mutters. Sherlock whips off his scarf, and goes to kneel down over the bomb, flailing uselessly over it. He stops and looks up at her, eyes filling with tears. "Oh, god. What?"

"I can't... I can't do it. I don't know how."

She stares at him intensely, making him flinch slightly. She narrows her eyes. "This is one of your tricks."

"No."

"No, no. You're just trying to get us to say something nice about you."

He chuckles briefly. "No. Not this time."

"This is just to make you look good, even though you behaved like..." She begins.

Ramona's voice is low but savage. "I- I wanted you to come back to me."

"Yeah, well, be careful what you wish for." She sighs, looking away briefly.

"If I hadn't come back, You wouldn't be standing here... You'd still have a future with... You'd have a future." She rolled her eyes at this. How was he able to be like that about Toby in their last moments?

"Yeah, with Toby, I know." Ramona says, pointing at him. Sherlock seems to flinch slightly at his name, and clenches his fist against his mouth, wipes his nose, looking up desperately at her, like a kicked puppy.

"Please, forgive me." He asks, in a praying position.

"Look, I find this sort of thing difficult." she starts.

"I know." _Tell him tell him tell him tell hi- Tell him what? _

"You- You were the, the best man I-" She sighs, closing her eyes briefly. "This isn't fair. Sherlock- this isn't fair. You- you can't just make me feel like this, it's not alright. You were the only person that..." Another sigh escapes her. He's looking at Ramona with wide, tear filled eyes, just like hers. "I- Sherlock, what I'm trying to say... Sherlock Holmes, I-" She looks down at the bomb, to realise it is flicking between 1:29 and 1:28.

"You..." Sherlock starts to shake with laughter, tears of laughter streaking down his face. "You absolute..."_ Why did that scene just then remind her of Doctor Who? Oh Jesus, don't tell me I was going to- I couldn't, because I don't. Imagine his reaction. Appalled,terrified, disgusted, amused. _

"Your face!" Sherlock giggles in a high pitch tone.

"Utter..." Ramona shakes her head.

"I totally got you!"

"You twat!" She shouts, only half serious.

"I knew it! You- I knew it! I'm never believing anything that comes out of your mouth again!" She studies the bomb more. "There was an off switch!"

"Of course there's an off switch. Terrorists can get into all sorts of problems if there's not."

"I hate you right now." She shakes her head at the giggling form of Sherlock, fighting a smile. "You never tell anyone about what I said, okay?"

He holds up two fingers. "Scouts honour."

"Dickhead." She mutters, folding her arms and battling a laugh that was building in her throat. She begins to see lights from rifles coming down the tunnel. "And you called the police."

"Of course I called the police." Sherlock stood up, picking up his scar and folding it to put it on.

"I really hate you right now." She said grumpily, a hint of a smile playing on her lips. Sherlock smiled down at the girl pulled the scarf around her, tying it in the style he usually has it in. Her eyes widen for a second and then gives him a hesitant forgiving smile.

"I'm gonna get you back for this, you know."

"I look forward to it."

"Also, you're buying us food tonight." His eyes widen as his expression seemed to soften even more.

"You're eating?"

"No, I'm going to snort rice and spring rolls." He laughs slightly. "Come on, I'm hungry." She started back off the way they came. Sherlock stood for a second, watching her go, before a massive smile spread across his face and eagerly followed her, jogging a bit to catch up.

* * *

Ramona took a bite out of some prawn toast as she sat daintily cross legged in her chair. The television was playing The Dark Knight on itv.

"How does nobody notice he's batman?" Sherlock asks, raising a hand to point at the TV.

"Well, I suppose the people of Gotham are a bit stupid."

"Oh, come on! It's ridiculously obvious! Narrow down his height, his estimated wealth and the amount of money it'd take to be Batman, his approximate age, you're left with Bruce Wayne! Is it honestly that hard?"

She giggles slightly at the detective, who was infuriated by the public's ignorance in the film. "You do realise this is a film, right? Anyway, billionaire playboy Bruce Wayne wouldn't have time for being the shadow vigilante, would he?" She says sarcastically, and takes a bite out a vegetable spring roll.

There's a brief pause. "I still think his voice is ridiculous."

She laughs. "Everyone does. No way he'd be able to do that for days on end." Another pause. "I bet he has a pocket in his belt just for strepsils." Sherlock rolled his eyes and shook his head with a smirk at the awful joke. Her eyes suddenly widen, remembering Toby. "Shit!" He gives her a disapproving look. "Sorry, I just... Toby's gonna kill me." She walks over to the kitchen to call him, a thoughtful look on her face.

She is instantly greeted by a hissing voice. "Do you have any idea how worried I was?"

"I, yes I know, just let me-"

"No! It's half twelve, Ramona. Anything could have happened!"

"If anything had happened, parliament would of been blown up tonight." There's silence from the other end of the phone. "Yeah, so don't say I don't blow you off for nothing. It's kind of more important than our relationship."

"WHAT?!" She hears a shout from the other end, making her take the phone away from her ear as to keep her ear drums intact.

"I- no, well," She scrambles for the right words. "Don't you think the safety of our country is a bit more important than you? I mean us, us."

"Wow, Ray."

"What's wrong with that?"

"It's like you're a machine!" The call ended, which was not her doing. She stared at the phone, a bit heartbroken.

She didn't realise Sherlock was stood right in front of her, looking concerned, after hearing the word 'machine'. She frowned at the floor, trying to burn a hole into it. The detective offered her another spring roll. She stared at it and started to laugh, before launching herself at him into a hug. He frowned for a moment, before reciprocating cautiously, wrapping his arms around her small waist.

"He's an idiot." He said, trying to comfort her.

"I know." she said, her words slightly muffled by his chest. He sighs contentedly, getting her natural scent of green apples and mint. Despite the context, it was nice to hug her. Even if he was comforting her, it felt the other way round.

* * *

**Trouble in paradise :o**

**Toby's such a drama queen, smh**

**I really hope everyones enjoying it, some reviews would be great to just push me along :)**

**Thanks soo much for reading!**


	19. Love Will Tear Us Apart

**Love Will Tear Us Apart - Joy ****Division**

**I don't own Sherlock unfortunately **

* * *

The morning shone through her room eagerly, as if wanting to wake her up particularly. Ramona frowned and turned over, pulling her cover over her more so that she wouldn't be able to see anything but darkness. Then her alarm went off. She groaned loudly and hit the top of it violently. She was definitely not a morning person. The alarm went off five minutes later and she eventually pulled herself out of the comfy heaven that was her bed.

After dressing in a smart blouse, a pair of black heels and a pencil skirt that definitely hugged her curves, she made her way into the kitchen.

"Morning Sherlock." She said with a dead tone. Mornings did not suit her.

"Good morning." He looked up to see her making her way to the dining table in the living room, where she opened a copy of The Guardian that was there.

"Aren't you going to have breakfast?"

"Nah, not that hungry." She shrugged, reading about yet another scandal in the British parliament.

Sherlock pulled a fake upset face. "But Mrs Hudson's already made you breakfast." He nods to a plate opposite him. "Don't be rude." He almost snaps.

She looked a bit mortified that she had been rude. "Oh, sorry, I didn't see it," She sat down. "So, any cases?"

"Not if you don't count missing pets, cheating partners and the supposed supernatural."

"I see." She forced herself to put a forkful of food into her mouth. He had a strange expression on his face as he watched her, very calculating. Her phone suddenly lit up beside her on the table. Sherlock read the text upside down.

**1 message from: Toby **

**We need to talk. Sorry for snapping at you, that Holmes man really rubs me up the wrong way. Call me when you can.**

She sighed and rubbed her temples. It was definitely too early to be thinking about his problematic self.

"Why don't you just dump him?" Sherlock shrugs as he flicks through the paper.

"He's really nice Sherlock, you don't understand. He's cute and caring and funny and sensitive... Maybe a little too sensitive but you do see where I'm coming from, right? I don't deserve him, to be honest."

"That's why I don't get involved with people. Too much distraction and worrying over nothing."

"It's got to be a bit... Boring, hasn't it?" He gave her a confused look as she texted Amber. "But then, you don't know what you're missing out on, do you?"

Sherlock narrowed his blue eyes which had changed shade yet again. It had always confused her how they seemed to change with the seasons, warm in summer, yet grey and piercing during the eleven other months in england known as winter. "If your relationship is anything to go by, it would appear I'm better off on my own." He said in a usual cold manner, as cutting as ever. She felt anger creep into her veins, making her blood boil.

"Shut up Sherlock." She said almost in an animalistic way, her eyes turning dark as she cast them over him. His own blue orbs retreated quickly from hers. "And on that note, I'm off to work."

Sherlock looked to the clock. "A bit early, don't you think?" She raised an eyebrow. "You normally set off for work at half six, however you're leaving now at six."

"H- how do you know that?" She went to grab her black trench coat, trying to shake off the feeling Sherlock was a bit creepy. "You're normally still asleep when I leave." A deep frown spread across her face.

"I never sleep, I can hear you from my room when you leave." He stated, his eyes not leaving the newspaper.

"Oh. Well anyway, I have to get there earlier 'cause my boss wants me to set up shop or whatever." A deep sigh escaped her as she buttoned up her coat. "I have a feeling this could lead to a sexual harassment at work court case." He looked up at her with searching eyes, deadly serious. "... That wasn't serious, Sherlock." She said with an uncertain tone. Alan had been acting very strange around her lately, and she had been suspicious when he asked her to come in early.

"Mm." Sherlock murmured as he turned back to his paper, neither agreeing nor disagreeing.

"Right. Anything you want me to get when I go to Tesco?"

"Can I buy silence from you?"

She rolled her eyes and fought a smile with her back to him, walking to the door. "Well, I'll see you later then. Have a good day love." The endearment slipped out of her mouth before she had a chance to take it back. Her eyes widened with embarrassment as a blush crept up her, strong enough to make her cheeks feel like they were burning. She turned around slowly, cringing, to see him grinning at the newspaper like an idiot. "I- I mean, sorry, force of habit." She opened the door, but before she could get any further, Sherlock was suddenly stood in front of her, looking down on her with folded arms.

"Wait, you're going from where you work to Tesco?" Sherlock asked.

She frowned. "... Yes. Why?"

"That's dangerous, Ramona. I can't allow you to take that route."

She frowned."How do you even know-"

"I'll have some of my homeless network walk you home- No, I'll do it myself."

Ramona looked at the obviously insane man incredulously. "Er, thanks, dad, but I'm a big girl, I think I can take care of myself."

He glared at her. "And how many times has everyone heard that from you before?"

She rolled her eyes at the detective. "Seriously, I'm fine. I can handle myself. See you soon!" And with that she paced out of the room, pushing past him before he could get another word in.

Ramona stood outside the posh men's clothing shop, shivering only slightly in the cold air. The glass door suddenly swung open, to reveal her boss, Alan Turner. Or Mr Turner, as he always insisted. She was convinced he had a fetish for that. Convinced. He was middle aged and had greying hair with green eyes. He took her in with his dialated pupils, mentally undressing her with with hawk like eyes. She hid a shiver and smiled a fake smile at him.

"Morning, Mr Turner!" She said, as sweetly as possible without punching him. The only reasons she tolerated this were; she needed the (good) money, and her place would just be filled anyway, with a less competent girl.

"Hello, Ramona." The street was empty now, as most would be this early. However she couldn't help but hear a few footsteps outside, causing her to look around warily. "Please, come in. You must be freezing." He guided her inside with a predatory hand on her lower back, and she really felt she might throw up.

The morning passed quickly, until after a few more vile looks from men, she definately felt worn out and even used, even though she was dressed normally, and was in what everyone else was wearing. She helped men pick out a few well tailored suits, and there were a few charming exceptions that actually had the decency to treat her like a person. After her work was finally over, the winters sun was already pretty much set, and she still had to get to Tesco using a network of various badly lit snickets and streets, which was pretty much asking for trouble. In hindsight, this wasn't the brightest thing to do.

Sticking her hands in her trench coat, Ramona began walking along the empty street, her heels clicking on the tarmac. after walking a few feet, she thought she heard another set of footsteps and turned around abruptly. She saw nothing apart from the dark street behind her, dimly lit in an orange hue by the streetlamp. The cold air felt thinner this night, as if she was able to move through it faster. Ramona did this several times until finally shouting out if anyone was there, which was obviously in vain, as she got no reply. Ramona thought about calling Sherlock, but her pride wouldn't let her, as she'd never forgive herself for seeing that smug look on his face. So she quickened her pace, and put her keys in between her fingers whilst making a fist to make a deadly combination.

Looking over her shoulder for the last time, a panic started to rise in her that Ramona couldn't shake. She began to jog and then run a little as she turned a series of corners, trying to shake her imaginary stalker. Ramona looked around and found the street she was in in her memorised map of London. As she hurried home, Ramona passed an alley that made her heart drop with a sickening thud as she saw two figures in the alleyway. She stepped back into the shadows, blending in as she had done many times. Ramona dialed 999 as she hissed into the phone.

"I'm going to need police," She thought about what she was about to do to the attacker. "And an ambulance please, to Northumberland street." She listened to the woman on the recieving end. "Yes, there's been an attempted mugging. No, the victim's fine." Her voice was spiked with malice. "It's the mugger. Five broken ribs, broken leg, sprained arm," She paused. "Suspected internal bleeding."

"I want your money, bitch. And maybe after I've taken that, I'll take you." A menacing voice said in the alley, and she realised the man had a knife at the woman's throat. On closer inspection, she saw a girl, merely past nineteen. Her heart wrenched as she felt a likeness to this girl, saw her former self in her shivering form. Her blood started to boil as she stepped out of the shadows, taking a possessive and dominating stride to the pair.

"That won't be happening." The way the girls big brown eyes met hers and the way her short brown hair bounced slightly as she slumped with relief. She felt her heart rate pick up as the man turned to face her. He was six foot, built, and had shaggy blond hair and soft green eyes which could place trust on him. However, the only thing that would be placed on him were a pair of handcuffs and her foot on his throat.

"Oh yeah?" He chucked darkly. "Who's gonna stop me?" He pointed the knife towards her. "You?" She raised an eyebrow and looked around the alley.

"I don't see anyone else here."

"This ain't any of your business, leave and I won't hurt you." He looked back to the girl. "Don't, and I'll let you join the fun."

"I'm afraid I can't do that." She smirked. "Anyway, the only fun I plan on having is beating you to a pulp and leaving you with a _lot _of broken bones."

He snorted and stalked towards her. Before he could get any closer, she kicked out an adrenaline fueled leg out to his hand, leaving his sharp knife to clatter to the floor. He watched as it fell from his hand, and back to her. "You're really gonna regret that."

Suddenly he's going for her, throwing a powerful but sloppy fist toward her. She grabbed his wrist and using his momentum, twisted it between his shoulders. He yelped and keeled forward, and then she was throwing her knee up into his stomach, hearing the satisfying crack of ribs five times before she released him. He moaned and straightened up, still going for her in a more aggresive way. Ramona had learnt a lot of martial arts, especially Krav Maga, which was how to defeat your opponent using everything, if it meant biting them. She had done that before, and was definitely not scared to do it again. However, she was weaker than before, so instead of using her own strength, she used her opponents against them. He kicked her in the stomach hard. He was wearing steel toe capped boots, and this sent her winded and flying against the alley wall. She heard a crack around the area her rib cage was, and started to feel a bit nauseous. She hadn't been prepared and had gotten caught off guard. _Idiot!_ Then he was walking towards her, stumbling a little, and she realised that she was completely defenseless.

She struggled upwards, using the wall as support and wiping her mouth with her sleeve to take a lot of blood from it. She stared holes into him as he went for her again, throwing a fast sucker punch which she didn't duck. The back of her head collided with the brick wall behind her hard, making her feel dizzy. Ramona realised she had gotten in too deep, and she would only make it out of this with very severe injurys that she probably had. She started to hear footsteps pounding the tarmac, running. She recognised the height from the gait and immediately thought of the consulting detective. Turning around, she saw something that could only be a hallucination.

Suddenly there was a fist smashing into the mans face with a tremendous power, one that would knock teeth out with ease. Sherlock's coat swayed behind him slightly, and she couldn't help but liken it to a cape. The man stumbled back three steps as he paced towards him with something that she'd never seen before, an infusion of malice and anger that made her feel sick with terror, even if it wasn't directed at her. The consulting detective's big hand was then sprawled across the mans neck, holding him up with one hand against a wall, tightening like a clamp as the mans face turned a shade of blue and he squirmed against the cold brick.

Sherlock leaned in to hiss in the mans ear something inaudible. The attackers face filled with terror as he was slammed against the wall again like a ragdoll, suddenly thrown across the alley as if he was a paper plane. The mans body hit the other wall with a thud and Ramona stood there, resting her weight on one leg and trying to stop the blood from her lip. Suddenly the sound of sirens encircle them and Sherlock looks at her with a blank face that had gritted teeth.

Ramona sits up in a hospital bed, waiting for a doctor to show up. Sherlock looked more than angry, and drummed his fingers impatiently against the arm of the chair he was sitting on. When she breathed it hurt, and she could almost hear a rattle from her chest. "Look, Sher-"

"You're a fucking idiot!" He says, shocking her at the volume of his booming voice and the use of words. She had never heard him swear before, and she flinched at it. "Why would you do that!" He says beside her in an armchair, using his arms expressively. "Do you want to get yourself killed?"

"I was just helping that girl." She murmured, rubbing the thin fabric of the hospital bed between her fingers and surprisingly timid at this version of Sherlock not many had seen.

"You know what the problem here is? You think you're bloody invincible! What did you think you were going to do? Beat him up? Look at you!" His voice faltered on the second to last word. She felt embarrassed and ashamed at the same time. And then she realised she was angry, too.

"ME? I think I'm invincible? You're fucking delusional! Have you forgotten how I was once in that situation? You think I'm just going to call the police and fucking watch as she got robbed and who knows what else? Also, I would have had him if you hadn't of decided to intervene! Why were you even there? Were you following me?" Sherlock was silent. "Oh my god! You were stalking me! You, are completely insane!" Ramona was furious. Sherlock stares at her from the chair. "Why did you do it?" She asks, quietly.

"What?" Sherlock frowns.

"Follow me. Protect me." She looks straight at him, unflinching.

There's a long pause. "That's an stupid question." He clenched his jaw.

She frowns slightly, but before she has time to reply, a young attractive male doctor with short blond hair and green-blue eyes and freckles hurries in, a white coat on him and two pens in his breast pocket.

"Hello, I'm doctor Ashworth, are you Ramona Doherty?" He asks, his breathing slightly quick. He spoke very well.

Ramona almost found herself flustered at his appearance. "I- uh, yes." She nodded and Sherlock's gaze turned harsh to the man.

"I've been told what's happened, how are you feeling?"

"Dizzy, nauseous, and very light-headed. I've been coughing up blood and I've hit my head really badly. I've probably just got a concussion, maybe a broken rib." Sherlock tensed his jaw.

Doctor Ashworth nodded thoughtfully. "Okay. Could you stand up for me?" He asks. She nods and takes to her bare feet. "Alright, is there any pain, and if so where?"

"Yeah, around my chest, especially when I breath."

"So all the time then?" The doctor says playfully.

Ramona smiles and fights a chuckle. "Please don't make me laugh, that'll kill." He laughs.

"Alright, if you could just take off your top, I need to listen to you breathing." Sherlock's head snapped to the man, eyes wide and furious. Ramona looked at him with a warning in her eyes.

"I have seen the female anatomy before." Ramona snorts at Sherlock, who sighs. "I'll just look away." Ramona unbuttons her blouse tentatively to reveal a plain white bra. _I definitely would of worn something better if I had of known a handsome detec- doctor was going to see it. _She could almost feel the atmosphere of hate radiating around Sherlock, which if you got too close to, you were guaranteed to get burnt.

Doctor Ashworth put a stethoscope to her rib cage and asked her to breath deeply. She did as instructed. The next thing she knew he had put a hand to her and was feeling for a break in the bones. She winced and took an hissed intake of breath as he went over a fracture. She saw Sherlock's hand dig into his chair. He said he was done and before she could put her blouse back on, Sherlock had turned around and had seen her very topless. Her eyes widened and she rushed to the white top and scrambled around the buttons. Sherlock crossed his legs and looked away, seemingly un-phased.

"I'm afraid you were right. You're going to need to say for the night, to make sure you don't do any permanent damage." Ramona gaped slightly. A night in a hospital-especially NHS- was hell to say the least, even if she did have a private room. Ramona had frequented hospitals as a teenager and wasn't in a rush to relive that memory. The doctor left, and Ramona was left lying there with Sherlock staring out the black window intensely.

"Are you..." She began, breaking the silence.

"I'm waiting for Tobias to turn up." He says as if common knowledge.

"What?" She frowned. "I explained what had happened and told him to bring some of your things." She frowned again. He rolled his eyes as he began to explain.

"His number on your hand the night you came to my flat drunk and with nowhere else to go. I can't help what I memorise, although I'd like to delete every memory of that dreaded bo-"

Toby burst in, breathing quickly with flowers in one hand and a bag in the other. He spots her and his eyes widen slightly, pained. After seeing Sherlock, he began to glare slightly. Ramona rolled her eyes at the alpha male showdown between the two, death staring each other. She turns to Sherlock. "Could you give us a moment?" He looks slightly hurt for a second. Sherlock then nods to her, and walks out silently, glaring down at Toby as he steps out of the door.

"I was so worried!" Toby leans down to hug the girl. She smiles cautiously. He grimaced slightly her wincing when she breathed.

"You should see the other guy." She said. _Seriously, Sherlock Holmes has a very dark side that will throw men at walls._

"Look, I've seen the error of my ways, I now realise trouble and life-or-death situations follow you. I was being childish." He puts the flowers on the bedside table. "Forgive me?"

She doesn't have to think. "Of course." Ramona smiled warmly at the boy, who kissed her gently.

**Sherlock**

_Why am I watching? You're observing, it's your job. But why do I care? _Sherlock watched the couple nervously from behind a window that had white plastic blinds on the other side. _Tobias- what a stupid name. What a stupid man-child. What does she see in him, honestly? He's so pathetic. He couldn't even protect his own girlfriend. I had to. It'd be different if she was my girlfriend. Shut up! Why would I even think that? _Sherlock's eyes widened and then saddened at the sight of him leaning in to kiss her. And her kissing him back. His chest made that awful tugging feeling and the detective felt as if the sight angered him. A lot. He almost felt like throwing up. maybe he should. He hated the fact she touched anyone. He hated the fact that she wanted to kiss him. _You hate the fact it's not you. _Sherlock waited for a voice to tell him that statement was wrong, but suddenly there was nothing. It was the truth. _Once you eliminate the impossible, whatever remains, no matter how improbable, must be the truth. But then there's her. Who am I to even question what she wants? _He watches the smiles exchanged, the warmness radiating from the pair. _You can't seperate her from what she desires. If she wants it, I'll do what it needed for her to obtain it. In this case, it is her relationship with this... Mongrel. You can't get in the way. You need to stop this strange infatuation, and you need to stop it now. Put up all my barriers, like I always do. Shut her out and make your life easier. _Sherlock stuck his hands in his coat pockets and left abruptly.

* * *

**I love putting characters in fights idek why**

**ok so I'm going on a school trip next week so there won't be an update for longer than usual**

**The tables are soon gonna turn when Janine comes into the picture ehehe**

**Reviews would be nice so I can make it better, thanks for reading yah ^-^ **


	20. Changing Of The Seasons

**Changing Of The Seasons - Two Door Cinema Club**

* * *

"Oh, I'm really pleased, Mary. Have you set a date?" Mrs Hudson asks Mary, the woman with blonde short hair, who also happened to be Johns fiancee. Ramona had liked her from the moment she'd seen her, seeing her as clever, someone who bakes her own bread and was all in all a warm person. However, it often felt like there was something just out of reach whenever she looked her way, like something was on the tip of her tongue, just out of her field of vision, right under her nose. She quickly shook the feeling however, surveying the scene before her as Toby was still engulfed by a concerned air, obviously absorbed in thought, and almost distant, which was odd for him. Something definitely wasn't right with him, Ramona knew at least this.

Hannah comes to stand next to Ramona as Harry engages John in an enthusiastic conversation with a lot of hand gestures, probably about sports.

"I'm sooooo happy for him." Hannah said excitedly, taking another sip of champagne. Ramona nods with an amused smile.

"He definitely deserves it, that's for certain."

"I looooveee weddings, I'm going to get a big hat with feathers." Ramona takes Hannah's glass from her.

"That's quite enough of that for you." She said, like a mother taking sweets away from a child who already had a lot of fillings. Hannah pouted like said child.

"Why?"

"Because you hate those hats, that's why." Hannah frowned to herself as Ramona smirked, shaking her head slightly.

"Er, well we thought May." Mary replies, champagne glass in hand.

"Oh! Spring wedding!" Ramona pulled a smile at Mrs Hudson's excitement.

"Yeah. Well, once we've actually got engaged." Mary almost quips, John agrees. She then looks pointedly at Sherlock. "We were interrupted last time." John yet again agrees. Ramona watches Sherlock smile and finds herself almost grinning. He was- or they both were- due for a press gathering outside.

"Well, I can't wait." Greg chips in, happily raising his glass in a toast. John smiles at him. Putting down the glass he just poured, Sherlock stands up and walks across the room to the the scene dissolves into chatter, Ramona is turned to Toby, his face a display of urgency.

"Look- We need to talk in private about something, okay?" Ramona frowned but nodded slowly.

"What's it about?" She didn't know if she really wanted the answer.

"I'll explain later." His brown eyes seem to melt innocently, and she purses her lips. Before Ramona gets a chance to reply, The door opens, revealing Molly and Tom.

"Hello, everyone." Molly addresses the room happily, holding hands with her Sherlock look-a-like.

"Hey, Molly."

"This is Tom." She gestures to Ramona and Toby. "But you two already know him." The wholes room attention seems to shift to the other young couple, forcing Ramona to look down and study her shoes as Sherlock smirks her confidence away. She sees John do a double take when looking at him, and stifles a giggle. Honestly, this man was the replacement Sherlock. Well, in looks anyway. He was tall and slender, with dark curly hair, although shorter than Sherlock's. He's wearing a long dark coat and a scarf tied around his neck as is Sherlock's trademark style.

The consulting detective and Ramona share a five second look, that involves; Sherlock's raised brows, Ramona's widened eyes, Sherlock's smile that only appeared in his eyes, and her ever so slight shake of the head that was a fraction of a millimetre to each side, yet one that Sherlock still picked up on. They both smiled and returned from outside of their personal bubble.

Outside on the landing, John walks over to Sherlock and Ramona, one of which is pulling on her trench coat, another who is looping a scarf around his neck. John points back towards the door.

"Did you two, er ...?" He asks quietly.

"I'm not saying a word." Sherlock replies, surprising Ramona that he was capable of anything but blatant immaturity.

"No, best not." John agreed.

* * *

Toby sat down next to Ramona on the settee of 221B, a certain uncertainty in the air of the flat.

"So, what was it?" Ramona asks, in the flat that two hours ago was full of people. Sherlock had gone out on one of his broody I-need-to-clear-my-head walks, and it was silent apart from the two. Toby takes a deep breath, as if to level out his head.

"I got a great job offer in HSBC." Confusion flooded Ramona's mind. Why was he saying it with such a heavy heart. "To handle the Japanese accounts with the company, which is a big opportunity."

"You've been dreaming of something like this." She smiled.

"No, no, not like this." Toby shook his head. "To manage those accounts, I'm going to have to... To be in Tokyo." Something dropped in Ramona's chest heavily.

"Toby-"

"So something like long distance could work, right?" _When has it ever worked?_

"I think that this is a good way to... to end things." The penny seems to drop for Toby with a sickening thud. "Don't take it like that, I just feel as if it's run its course, and now is the best way to just start... Relatively fresh, there's no need to..." Her voice trails off, not quite sure not to say. They simply both sit there, looking anywhere but each other.

"It doesn't have to-"

"It does. You know it does." She looked at him. "It's easier for you this way, you get a new life in a new place with new people," She smiles for him, trying to look optimistic. "It'll be exciting for you." Something was desperately sinking and drowning inside of her, the flame of hope for the relationship extinguished in an instant, singed out beneath a fingertip. It was goodbye. It was so obviously goodbye. Ramona began to feel numb at the prospect of a Toby-less world, but a feeling like when your friend tells you their moving away, not one of facing the prospect of a constant boyfriend transforming to a distant ex-boyfriend.

* * *

**Sherlock**

Ramona's fingers went from string to string with a certain inexplicable agility and elegance, an unforgettable mix of power and being able to exert it without straining herself, or at least looking like she was. Sherlock counted seven hours, fifty seven and twenty nine seconds since she had fallen into a powerful trance that left her emancipated apart from her hands, that seemed to have a mind of their own as they worked over the acoustic guitar. Her wide eyes grew to the size of saucers as she stared out of the window, probably seeing nothing, probably not caring. Every tune and riff was different, her own, he guessed, simply improvising, but beautiful all the same.

Sherlock watched her profile closely, watching for any show of emotion at all. He hadn't heard her voice for a scarily long time and he wished she would say something. The consulting detective had thought up multiple conversation starters, from to the latest episode of coronation street, but he couldn't quite push a sound out out of him, almost entranced by whatever it was she was doing. He almost jumped out of his skin when her voice cut through the silence like blood ribboning through water.

"I said could you pass me my phone." He frowned at Ramona.

"I'm sorry?"

"Around seven hours ago, I asked if you could pass me my phone." Her voice was almost harsh.

"I... I wasn't here seven hours ago." _Is this what it feels like when I do it to other people? _

"Oh." There was a slight pause. "Anyway, I think I got a text. Should probably reply." She puts the guitar back on its rest and goes to the table, standing over her phone as she picks it up and reads something from the screen. Her fingers start tapping at the screen. "Need to clear my-" Her eyes widen, a moment of realisation, suddenly her phone slips from her hands onto the table. "Fuck..." Her gaze turns to scary as it meets Sherlock's, and he swallows under her microscope.

"What's wrong?" He asks, trying to snap her out of it.

Her deep eyes narrow, then the clouds seem to clear in them. "Just... an anniversary's coming up."

**Ramona **

Playing guitar was all that seemed to distract her from self destructive thoughts at times like these, as she was sure was the case with Sherlock and his violin. She was aware of him staring at her, and honestly didn't care as she wracked her brain for some way to stop. Why didn't she care? Why wasn't she feeling anything? Nothing but numbness could be felt and every reconciling ideas she tried to give herself weren't making an iota of difference. She can't bare to look at Sherlock, perhaps because of the way he looked tonight, or the way he always was looking back, watching her watch him. Why did she care? She tries to gather her thoughts, remember everything that was solid fact in her life. _My name Is Ramona Doherty, I live in London, The date is March 4th... Wait, March 4th? _

Suddenly her phone was in her hand, desperately trying to conceal the fact she was shaken, but desperately failing as she dropped it onto the wood of the table. _Oh god. _

"What's wrong?" A baritone asks her.

"Just... an anniversary's coming up." _The anniversary._

* * *

_A cold ringing shot, a bullet flying out of a gun to reach its destination. A blood curdling scream. The sudden running, the sudden heavy breathing, the sudden panicked tears. A body fighting against her own, one stronger, one winning. A bullet entering her body at her abdomen, the sudden blurriness of it all, the trip and the fall down, the one that wasn't hers. A pale, shaking, blood-stained hand reaching out for the cold steel resting on the pavement, the pleading eyes, the pleading body, the trembling man below her. Her merciless finger pulling, pulling a trigger, a cold shot ringing out, and recoiling in horror, the now dead body spasming once violently before stilling, the dark red pooling- _

A scream escaped her as she shot up in bed, panting heavily with a cold sweat, a pounding headache, and goosebumps covering her.

"What is it?" Sherlock was stood in the doorway to Ramona's bedroom. Confusion and concern flashed onto his features before being replaced by a display of apatheticness. She stands up and pulls a dressing gown around her even though she was already in pyjamas, as she was cold from her open window and billowing curtains. It was strange, as she had gone to bed boiling.

"It's nothing, sorry." Her face held a stony expression. "It just gets worse around the anniversary." Sherlock replied with a confused frown. "The anniversary of when I... When-" She began to tremble slightly. She then got a glance in her mirror, and what was staring back was a woman with a ridiculously pale complexion, as if she'd just seen a ghost, startled eyes, bigger than usual, and messy bed hair going every which way. Ramona realised that Sherlock was being more cold than usual towards her, as normally he would at least try to comfort her with awkward words, or something. He almost looked pained before a flash of words hit her.

"You're still hung up on that?" Sherlock sneered. "Even for you, that's ridiculous." It was the first time in a long time he had a nasty edge to his words towards her. And it was the first time in a long time she had been genuinely hurt by what someone had said to her. The backs of her eyes started to sting, feeling pathetic, because he was right, wasn't he? Ramona looked down at the carpet.

"You don't know what it's like, Sherlock." She murmured, suddenly looking back up to him and his hard face. "To be a murderer." His eyes widened slightly and his mouth opened, before quickly shutting it again.

"You can't possibly think..." He composed himself. "You don't think that."

"I don't think that, Sherlock. I _Know_ that." Something inside Sherlock was very unnerved by the look on her face.

Ramona walked into the kitchen as Sherlock went to sit at the kitchen table. "Is there someone you want to... To call, or something? Like Hannah? Or even Tobias?" His lip curled in disgust at the last word.

"I'm fine, thanks." She opened a cupboard above, reaching high to retrieve a wicker basket on the top containing all sorts of medication. "I just need something for this migraine." She sets the rectangular basket on the table and starts pawing around inside. "Plus, you couldn't call Toby even if I wanted you to." Sherlock's brows furrowed. Ramona was starting to feel lethargic.

"What?"

"Oh, er, we broke up." His pale eyes grew to the size of saucers.

"What?"

"He's going to Tokyo."

"What?"

"Could you stop saying what?"

"Er, yeah, sorry." Ramona did a double take and frowned at the man. Since when had he been so compliant? She shook off the after thought and went back to searching for painkillers, before pulling out a small cardboard box of ibuprofen.

"Finally." She pushed her nail through the foil of three circles satisfyingly. Sherlock looked like he was holding his breath, having a debate with himself. She looked at him with a raised eyebrow and waited for him to say something, pills in hand. Sherlock swallowed and continued looking at the table.

"I-I'm sorry for just now. It was rude and insensitive of me to say something like that, Forgive me." He looked up at her.

"I don't accept." She shrugged and went to fill up a glass with water. Sherlock frowned at where she had stood for two seconds, before reacting and turning round to face her, his face incredulous. She started to realise her nose was blocked.

"Excuse me?" He said, sounding a mix of disbelieving and outraged.

"I said, I don't accept." She put a pill in her mouth and swallowed it with a swig of water. "I know it's hard for you to think about my feelings," Sherlock clenched his jaw and looked away. "But it's not that hard to just shut up and not say stuff like that." She swallowed another pill with a mouthful of water.

"That's not true." Sherlock murmurs, still looking away, almost inaudible. Ramona studies his chaotically ordered raven curls, and has to fight a smile, once again remembering how handsome they were.

"Sorry?"

"I do think about you're feelings." He turns to her, a slightly scared look on his face. "I think about you a lot." She blinks several times down at him, and then her eyes followed as he stood up in front of her.

"Sherlock... What are you-"

Suddenly, The door burst open, Hannah running in with a frying pan, with Harry following and staying leant against the doorway, shaking his head at his excitable girlfriend. "I heard screaming!" Sherlock turned around to face her. "Is everything okay? Was it him? Did he try something on with you?" Hannah began glaring up at Sherlock, her very petite frame very obvious under the incredulous looming detective. Ramona laughed at her over protective friend.

"No, no, nothing like that. I just had a nightmare." She said jokingly, rolling her eyes at herself self mockingly. Hannah's expression turned sympathetic as Sherlock watched her with a guarded expression.

"Aw, Ray, don't tell me that. I thought we'd gotten past those." Sherlock hid a scowl, and Ramona knew why. Hannah liked to think everything they went through was a team effort, but Ramona felt more at ease like that.

"It's just... With the date coming closer and everything, y'know?" She shrugged lightheartedly. "Just stress, is all. Brings 'em on." Ramona shook her head.

"Don't be like that, Ramona Doherty. I know how bad they are." She put a finger to her chest. "D'you want some tea, something to calm your nerves?" Hannah placed the back of her hand to Ramona's forehead. "You're burning up! Have you taken anything?"

"I feel cold." Ramona frowned. "Ibuprofen, But my temperatures probably just from my headache."

"Looks like the beginnings of the flu." Ramona shook her head with a smile.

"Alright Nurse, you know I don't get ill." Hannah let out a laugh.

"I know you play off everything you go through to ease other people." She took a thermometer out of the basket out of the table and stuck it in Ramona's mouth. "You're not invincible, Ray." Ramona frowned.

"Buw I cawn ger Iww." Ramona struggled out, the forceful thermometer stuck in her mouth. Hannah rolled her eyes and pulled it out again. Sherlock smiled warmly at the sudden speech impediment and looked away so she couldn't see.

"Yep, that's a fever. Get to bed, and I'll be in in a minute with some tea." Ramona shook her head forcefully, as did Harry.

"C'mon, it's ridiculous o'clock Hannah. Come back upstairs, she can handle herself." Ramona admired the way the two worked, almost like each others Ying and Yang, and wondered if it was possible for her to find that. Her eyes wandered to Sherlock, who's eyes seemed to be hiding a thousand thoughts a second behind them.

"Shush, you."

"I'm going to have to agree with Harry here. Its five to four, go to sleep. I can take care of myself." Sherlock rolled his eyes, and she shot him a death glare. They could see Hannah was going nowhere fast.

"Stop ganging up on me, I'm a nurse if you two forgot."

"I'll do it." Sherlock elected.

"You don't have to keep apologising." She said. Sherlock frowned.

"I'm not allowed to do anything nice now?" He asks, half sarcastic, half self conscious. Hannah shakes her head exasperatedly.

"All you two ever do is fight or stare at each other." They both snap out of their glare-off to frown at Hannah as Harry nodded his head bemusedly at the small woman.

"C'mon Hannah." Harry was heard from the doorway, voice still raspy from sleep.

"You should go." Ramona smiles before sneezing, causing Hannah to pull a concerned face, her wild hair everywhere. "Go to bed, I'll be fine." Hannah turned to Sherlock.

"Don't let her do anything stupid, okay?" Sherlock nodded with a slight smirk as Ramona scowled.

"I'm right here!" She cried, as Sherlock continued to smirk.

Sherlock appeared in her doorway, bringing in a mug with steam curling above it. He sits on the side of her bed by her knees. "There's no point in trying to get me to sleep." He placed the mug in her hands and drunk some of the tea. "And you're only going to get yourself ill being around me." Her head throbbed loudly in her temples, causing her face to crumple up slightly in pain. He frowned, concerned, as she took another sip.

"I'll get you to sleep." He said absentmindedly, studying the photos on her wall once again. She wanted to tell him how much she wanted to sleep, but was simply terrified to.

"That sounds terrifying." She said in a croaky voice, making him chuckle in his usual baritone. For some reason the sound made her flustered and she felt fluttering in her stomach as she blushed. There was silence for a second after it had stopped, but not an uncomfortable one. "Why do you even care?" Sherlock swallowed and look confused.

"About you?" Ramona nodded glumly, taking a sip from her almost-empty mug. "You really are an idiot if you can't see that." He smiled and said it almost jokingly, but his eyes were candid. "I was under the impression you were mildly clever." He shrugged.

"What do you mean?" Ramona almost slurred, eyes beginning to droop. She frowned and tried to blink herself awake, as Sherlock took the mug from her hands and set it on her bedside table. He chuckled as her vision became hazy.

"You're gonna be so angry tomorrow morning." He stood up slowly. "Goodnight, Ramona." She began to panic, not wanting to fall asleep. It was obvious he had drugged her. As he turned to walk away, she stood up quickly and grabbed him, swaying on her feet as he turned around and she blacked out, falling onto the bed and bringing Sherlock with her in her grip.

**Sherlock **

She grabbed onto his arms, squeezing tightly, and suddenly he was falling back onto the bed, locked in a vice. Sherlock frowned and rolled back over the bed so he wasn't pressed against her. He pulled her legs into the sheets with a grunt and got off the bed, and for some reason instantly missed the warmth of proximity to her. He shook the feeling off as quickly as it came and pulled the covers over her, and smiled at her gentle sleeping form. He liked how peaceful she looked, the opposite of her usual chaotic presence when she was awake. Before he knew what he was doing his fingers were brushing her hair from her face gently and leaning down to kiss her forehead. _Why did I just do that? She's unconscious for gods sake! _He looked troubled as he quickly exited her bedroom at half four in the morning.

**Ramona **

Ramona woke up slowly, gathering her fuzzy thoughts as throbbing slowly but surely returned to her temples, and a feeling of restlessness in her stomach made her wince. She moaned quietly and slowly got up.

Ramona stumbled out of her bedroom into the landing, still in her pyjamas, with consisted of plaid baggy shorts and a baggy white top. Sherlock looked up from his newspaper and did a double take at her scantily clad appearance.

"You..." She paced over to the table where he was stationed, calmly putting his paper down and looking up. She got to the table and leaned over it, hands gripping on. "You drugged me!" Ramona was acutely aware of the pounding in her head. Sherlock smiled sweetly.

"Yes." Ramona's left eye twitched with anger causing causing Sherlock to smile with something he viewed as endearing.

"You! That, is illegal!" She winced at the sound of her own loud voice, causing Sherlock to frown for a second. "I could get you done for that, I could call Lestrade-"

"I doubt George has time for that, he's currently in a cat and mouse with mobsters." Sherlock stated, returning to his paper on the table.

"I..." Her voice came out choked with anger. She looked to Mrs Hudson pleadingly. "He drugged me!" She turned to Sherlock. "And it's Greg." Sherlock shrugged, seemingly uncaring.

"I'm not getting involved." She picks up a dirty plate, presumable the remnants of Sherlock's breakfast. "When you two fight, it's like a war zone." She nodded matter of factually and went to the kitchen. Ramona frowned incredulously at Mrs Hudson's walking away figure and turned back to Sherlock, taking a seat at the table.

"For all I know, you could of done anything with me." Ramona narrowed her eyes, even though she was joking. Sherlock suddenly got flustered and hid it by pulling a newspaper in front of him, covering his face.

"Don't be so childish."

"You haven't even apologised!"

"Was I supposed to allow you to stay up all night?"

"You're talking like I'm your kid! I'm not yours to allow to do anything!" Sherlock rolled his eyes.

"You know what I meant."

"Really? Well, please do enlighten me, oh great one!" She sneezed.

"You're sick."

"No shit Sherlock." They scowl at each other and Mrs Hudson comes over to hand Ramona a white envelope.

"This came for you this morning dear." She said, simultaneously setting a full English breakfast in front of her.

"Cheers." Ramona said with a smile. Opening the letter, she saw the emblem of her secondary school on the top of the letter, which made her frown. But then again, if she counted... Ramona skimmed the letter, to reveal her worst fear. A reunion.

"What is it?" Sherlock must of picked up on her frown.

"My Secondary school's having a reunion for my class." She said. "I won't be going of course." Three raps on the door and Hannah was inside.

"How are you feeling, Ray? Alright?" Hannah placed the back of her hand onto her forehead and tutted, whilst jerking Ramona's head around in her hand to examine her. "Gotten any worse? Any vomiting or-"

"No, no, nothing like that, everything's fine." Hannah simply pursed her lips.

"And was Sherlock alright last night?" Ramona debated for a second. Telling her would mean Hannah losing all faith in Sherlock, perhaps causing an arguement, one that would probably do more harm than good.

"Yeah, he was good." Sherlock nodded happily whilst Ramona internally scowled.

"You coming?" Hannah asked, noticing the letter still in the blonde's hand.

"Er, no, I've got work and-"

"Then get a day off! You've got to see everyone!"

"Oh yeah, I'm sure they'll all be just _thrilled _to see me again." Sherlock's brows furrowed in confusion. How could anyone be annoyed to be in her company?

"Awh, don't be like that Ray."

"Too much water under the bridge, Hannah." Ramona said dismissively, putting down the folded letter on the table, which Sherlock picked up to study.

"In fairness, it was mostly you on the offensive, no wonder you had all those nicknames-"

"Shut up!" Ramona blurted. Hannah's eyes widened and hurt was apparent on her face as Ramona felt self-loathing rile inside her. "I- I'm sorry, I just... Can we not talk about high school, please?" Her voice was softer this time.

"This is what I'm talking about, Ray. If you'd come with me, then you can make up for it, get closure, and show them that's not what you're about anymore." Ramona debated this. For some reason, Sherlock liked the idea of Ramona being more at peace. Maybe it was because he'd get hit less.

"Is Harry going with you?"

"Yeah."

"I'm not third-wheeling." Ramona said jokingly.

"Then bring Toby." Hannah's voice was happy, but it felt as if someone had winded Ramona.

"Ah, yeah, that's... Not a thing anymore." Hannah frowned, opening her mouth to speak before Ramona butted in. "Later." As if to answer her unspoken question.

"Well, that's not a reason not to have a bit of fun. We can make a thing of it, a long weekend back at home, we can visit our parents and that!" Hannah was way too excited as always, squealing away.

"As I said, I'd feel like an idiot going back there on my own, you two'd be off every night, and I'm not sure you'd want me tagging along-" Sherlock was suddenly stood beside her, hands connected behind his back.

"I'll come with you." He cut her off. Ramona did a double take and simply frowned open mouthed at Sherlock. For the life of her she couldn't understand why he'd want to come. He simply smirked down at her, with a certain mischievous look in his eye. She had a really bad feeling about this...

* * *

**I'm so sorry about the long wait! I've been pretty busy, and I know this isn't a lot but I've already started on the next one so shouldn't be long**

**Thanks a bunch for reading :)**


	21. All The Rage Back Home

**All The Rage Back Home - Interpol**

* * *

"I'm not staying there. Nothing ever happened there." Sherlock leaned over Ramona's shoulder to look at the laptop screen where a nice hotel was displayed. Ramona frowned, amused, and turned to face the side of his head.

"We're not going on a murder mystery tour, y'know. It's just a hotel, we're only gonna sleep there." Sherlock turns to face her.

"Can we at least stay somewhere a bit less generic?" They suddenly both froze at the closeness and Sherlock turned to look back at the screen, clearing his throat deeply.

"I've shown you loads!" Ramona felt exasperated at the consulting detective, who was surprisingly fussy as to where he stayed, considering he had a human head in his fridge at this point in time.

"And they've all been boring!" Sherlock stresses. Ramona shakes her head.

"If my hotel picking skills are so bad, then you find one."

"Fine."

"Fine." Sherlock smiled as he went to pick up her laptop, and Ramona swatted his hands away protectively. "You have your own."

"But yours is closer." Sherlock pouts and Ramona sighs.

"Then stop leaving yours in the bedroom. Actually, why do you always bring your laptop to bed, Sherlock?" He played a straight face and continued to pretend to study the hotel. "Am I going to find stuff similar to on John's if I go on it?" She grinned, realising he was going slightly red, which almost never happened.

"You could never get in anyway, it's password protected." He goes to sit at his chair.

"Try me." Ramona smirked. Sherlock sighed.

"I'd rather not." And off he went to get his laptop.

Arriving at Leeds was nostalgic to say the least, as Ramona stepped off the train, pulling a small suitcase behind her. As Sherlock stepped beside her they started walking, he leaned down to talk above the rabble and echo of voices.

"80% of the air we breath in in train stations is microscopic sized dead skin cells." Ramona grimaced and he chuckled.

"Thanks for that." She said sarcastically.

* * *

The pair arrived at the hotel slightly tired, and on the inside it was sleek and modern, black glossy marble flooring that looked way too expensive to walk on. As the doors slid open Ramona spoke to Sherlock.

"Alright, what happened here?" Sherlock's eyes seemed to light, like he had been waiting for her to ask.

"Around ninety ago this was a hotel for only the richest and most influential. It's been reported that in every case days before the victim's 'disappearance'," Sherlock raises his fingers to make air speech marks. "Because it's never actually been proven it was murder, victims reported the same thing, all of them seeing a black cat, as if it wanted them to follow it. After a few days they went missing. The hotel naturally tried to cover it up, which is probably why you've never heard of it before."

"They could of been poisoned, and eventually took their own life from slowly going mad." Ramona suggested.

"Unlikely, as the bodies were never found. Why would they try to hide themselves?" She felt stupid and immediately regretted what she had said. "Two rooms booked under Sherlock Holmes." The woman at reception smiled and nodded, scrolling through her computer. She suddenly frowned.

"Two rooms, you said?" Sherlock nodded, brows furrowing. "I only have one under your name." Sherlock shook his head.

"There must of been a mistake."

"It happens very rarely, but there's a glitch in the booking system." Ramona stared incredulously.

"Can I not just get another room then?" The woman tapped something into her keyboard.

"Hmm, we're all booked tonight, but tomorrow there's a room on the top floor that's available." _I'm going to share a room with Sherlock, how could this trip get any worse? How more embarrassing? _

"Is it two singles in the room that's booked?" Sherlock asks, his voice strangely strangled. The woman at the desk shook her head.

"I'm afraid not. However we can give you a day'd refund for any inconvenience caused." Sherlock and Ramona look at each other. _How bad could it be? It's just like me and Hannah sharing a bed. We're both adults after all. _Sherlock seems to have been thinking the same thing as he takes the key from the woman's hand.

It was complete silence, and for some reason Ramona felt sick with nerves. Her palms were verging on sweating, and she felt an awful anxiety, like she was walking toward a noose with her name on it. _I'm just being stupid. Sherlock is Sherlock, he'd never participate or even think about you or anyone in that way... Would he? _

"I'm sorry about this." Sherlock said as he stopped by the door, room 48 on the fourth floor.

"It's not your fault." He turns the key and opens the room to reveal a simple but big room, with a large double bed in the middle of the right hand side of the room, a wardrobe to their immediate left, an expensive looking desk opposite the bed, above it was a mirror and on the right of that was a large flat screen television on the wall. Opposite to the wall were balcony windows. At the end of the left wall there is a door, presumably the bathroom. Sherlock walks in and goes to see the bathroom whilst Ramona goes straight to the all-glass balcony doors, opening them wide and entering onto a medium sized terrace, with a surprisingly good view of the city. She goes to lean on the glass and metal railings that looked new and very strong, and began to get a good feeling that it'd look even better at night. She smiled at the sight of the old and new buildings she had never seen from this perspective. She suddenly realised Sherlock was behind her, and she felt slightly embarrassed.

"It's a good view, isn't it?" He walked to beside her and leaned backwards on it. Ramona looked down involuntary and her eyes widened, realising the height of it. She swallowed and steadied herself, focusing on Sherlock's face, as to not take a step back from the dizzying drop and look stupid.

"It'd look better at night." For some reason, Sherlock smiled at this, before facing the city, leaving her to look up at his regal profile. _God he's gorgeous. _

"Are you nervous? For tonight, I mean." _His voice. _

"Why did you come here with me, Sherlock?" He seems slightly startled by this question. His hair moved slightly in the breeze. _His hair is so perfect. _

"I was curious. I know- compared to what I know about other people- nothing about you. It's my job to be interested in mysteries, isn't it?" Ramona's heart sank at this. _What did you expect? For him to care about you like you do him? Some people just aren't built that way, and he can't help it. He'd never reciprocate romantic feelings, the only relationships he's ever had are for manipulation only. _

"So that's all I am to you? A subject? An experiment?" Sherlock frowned.

"That isn't what I was trying to say, you know that." She laughs cynically and shakes her head.

"No Sherlock, I don't know that." She looks down at the people below, going about their lives, unknowing to the storm of feelings brewing inside Ramona. Suddenly her phone rang out in the sound of the Tardis. Sherlock frowned for a second and looked around, causing Ramona to throw her head back and laugh heartily before pulling out her phone and raising her eyebrows. Sherlock tried to look indifferent but couldn't seem to fight a smile.

Ramona got changed in the toilet of the room into a short black high necked body-con dress. She felt her stomach churning away at the prospect of seeing her schoolmates again. She had isolated herself and they had mistaken it for hatred, which they had given back unconditionally. At this point Ramona thought she may actually throw up with nerves. She shouldn't be going. She'd just run off. Or, She could stay for two minutes, and quickly slip out of the back door, if she remembered the layout of the hall correctly. Of course she did. Putting on a pair of black high heels, she began to work on her hair, taking two locks of hair on either side of her face and pulling them back to clip to the back of her hair. She swallowed and reviewed her appearance, feeling anxiety in every bone of her body. She stepped out of the room to face Sherlock, who was waiting for her in his usual suit with her favourite purple shirt. (It was of course her favourite for the tightness of it.) He turned to look at her and his eyes widened slightly before blinking several times and clearing his throat, before going to get their coats that were hung on the back of the door. Ramona started to shake her head as she took her leather jacket from his hand.

"I can't do it Sherlock." His eyes seemed to soften. "I can't go." She's still shaking her head. "Let's just go somewhere else tonight, you and me, please I don't-" Her voice was wracked with nerves, as if weighed down by tonnes of bricks.

"Don't be ridiculous. We've come this far, after all." He smiled down softly at her and she thought she might melt into a puddle at his expensive shoes. "Now put your jacket on, you're going to have a good night tonight." She stared up at him, her eyes pleading and his merciless under the pretense of kind. After a few seconds she grumbled and put her jacket on.

"That sounded way too sexual." Sherlock chuckled and the sound gave her butterflies. She was scared at how he did that to her.

Their taxi pulled up outside the school at eight pm, the only lights on were coming from the large dinner hall. Saint Georges Catholic School was a large campus, mostly consisting of a large Victorian main building, along with another modern one that had walls of glass, and one from the eighties, which Ramona felt ruined the whole look of it. However the dining hall building made up for whatever was lacking in architecture in the school. It had large wooden double doors and a big doorway, along with a big hall inside, with big boards that dated back to the 20's with lists of pupils that had graduated. That tradition had of course long stopped when they realised they were running out of wall. You could slowly see the font becoming smaller on them as school became more and more available, How girl's names became present when it switched from an all boys school in the 40's, and for some reason Ramona had always been fascinated by them.

"Ramona?" She suddenly snapped out of her lines of thought, as if entranced. She turned to Sherlock with an apologetic smile.

"Sorry I- I was just thinking." He smiled down at her, making her feel like his stupid dog who ran into walls when it got too excited. A few more steps and they were greeted by Hannah and Harry, Hannah already being basically swarmed by five women. When she spotted Ramona She started waving like an idiot- _like herself_. As soon as the other women saw Ramona and Sherlock their eyes widened, before backing away slightly and turning to themselves for chatter.

"I was worrying you weren't coming!" Ramona looked up at Sherlock who was already looking at her and looked back to Hannah.

"Yeah, well, we've come this far after all." She smiled as she saw Sherlock smile out of the corner of her eye.

When they entered the hall there was a stage for the DJ and the 'prizes' that they were going to vote for throughout the night, some of them were for 'Person who got the hottest' another was for 'most surprising success' and another was for 'cutest couple' and on and on went the superficial rubbish she would have to contend with throughout the night. There were lots of round tables that could hold six people, and the four of them found one completely free and sat down. Ramona started to feel relaxed and almost safe in Sherlock's company, and knew it would have been a huge mistake for him not to have come. He got up suddenly, excusing himself to go to the loo.

Harry and Hannah were suddenly taking to the dancefloor, and Ramona couldn't not come with them, laughing at Harry's inability to feel embarrassed in the slightest at his horrendous drunk uncle at a wedding dancing. Suddenly two men and a woman were in front of her, and she wouldn't of thought anything of it, except they were standing still, and staring right at her. She took a good luck and a hard pang ran through her, almost reducing her to run out right at that second.

"Hello, little miss perfect." Gabrielle said, maliciously but sugar coated so it would sound sweet if you didn't know what she was talking about. That nickname had been awful, so awful that at one point she had actually flunked out on everything, and it had only gotten worse.

"Dry Ice, didn't think you'd come." Daniel came out with. That had been her worst nickname. They'd thought her cold, evil even, so labelled her dry ice in year seven.

"Hi, Ramona. You're looking well." That hurt the most. It was Tom. It was Tom who she had abandoned in an alley. Never seen again. His face brought back too many memories, and she couldn't look at it, it physically brought her pain. She forced out a convincing smile.

"Thanks, lovely to see all of you again."

"Here alone?" Tom asked. _Please go away. _

"Can't say I'm surprised." Gabrielle shrugs her blonde hair and green eyes glinting. Tom looks at her, as if to say something defensive.

"When weren't you alone at school? Just like old times." _Just like old times. _

"Surprised you haven't got a boyfriend looking like that, but then again, who could put up with you?" She laughed like they were old friends discussing an inside joke. But they weren't. _Leave right now. Turn around and walk out of the door, don't look back. Sherlock'll figure out where you've gone._

"Ramona?" A sudden baritone is heard from behind. Her hand is now engulfed in a bigger one, her fingers being intertwined with longer ones. She looked up in surprise and confusion, only to earn a wink from the consulting detective and a small squeeze of her hand. The trio frowned collectively and then hid it behind a politely fake smile.

"Who's this? You never mentioned a boyfriend." Gabrielle said happily, twirling a blond lock of hair around a finger. Ramona opened her mouth to speak but Sherlock butted in.

"She doesn't like talking about me. Honestly, sometimes I think she's embarrassed." He smiled down at her with a sparkle in his eye and wrapped a strong, protective arm around her waist. The best thing now would be to play along. Gabrielle giggled and Daniel smiled as Tom eyed him up and down.

"How long have you two been together?" His kind voice was laced with poison. They both go to answer.

"Three year-" Sherlock's voice can be heard.

"Two year-" And there's Ramona's. "Two years and a half. I guess I'm more precise like that." Sherlock's phone suddenly starts ringing.

"You need to take this Ramona." She frowned for a second before catching on. He retracted his arm and held her hand again.

"Ah, okay. It's been nice catching up. Have a good night." She smiled sweetly and they got to the door, before Sherlock pushed one open to let her out first. They stood outside alone together, before Ramona let go of Sherlock's hand.

"Thank you, Sherlock." She said into the chilly night air, suddenly realising she should of brought her jacket.

"It was nothing, There's this app you can get that plays a ringtone when the timer goes off. I use it to get out of family dinners, although I suspect Mycroft is on to me-"

"I don't mean for that, Sherlock. I mean for... For saying that you were my, that you're my boyfriend." She looks up at him and he seems ridiculously flustered. "You didn't have to do it. You're a good best friend." Sherlock suddenly freezes, going into a state of shock. His eyes din't leave hers as they simply stared, as if he didn't believe what he had just heard. Did he not think of them as best friends? Had she blown it? Was he completely disgusted at the thought?

"I- I thought your best friend was Hannah." Ramona smiled.

"Yes, and so are you." Sherlock frowned.

"You can't have two best friends! That disproves the idea of you ever having a best friend meaning that your two alleged best friends are no longer best friends and demoted to good friends!" He hissed. Ramona laughed.

"We really are too old for this conversation. Am I your best friend?" She asked, and for a moment she feared it was going to be a no as she put a her left hand down the right side of her dress.

"Ye- What are you doing?" Ramona rolled her eyes at the surprisingly uptight detective.

"Chill out, I'm getting this." She waved a small matchbox around in front of his face. His brow furrowed.

"Are you going to try to set the school on fire? Because if so it's really not the best conditions, and you've brought sub -par equipment, and why was it even in your bra-"

"It's so if I'm in a situation like this. It's only small and it goes in at the side of it so you can't actually see it, it's just if I don't have any pockets." Sherlock blinked several times at all the information about her bra. "Answer the question then." She commanded as She opened the matchbox to be greeted with three matchsticks and two cigarettes. _Old habits die hard. _

"W- well, yes, you are." He struggled over the words as she struck the match and it caught flame instantly, and she lit her cigarette.

"Sorry, do you mind? It's just I don't think I can go back in there if I don't have this." He shook his head to say it didn't matter. "Well, John is also your best friend, yes?" Sherlock thought for a second.

"He's never said anything to-"

"Come on, y'know how bad John is with feelings."

"Almost as bad as you." Ramona glared at him and he smirked as she blew smoke into the air. "So, wait, you're saying that I have..."

"Two best friends." Sherlock looked at her like she had just spoken Latin.

"I have two best friends? Two?" Ramona nodded slowly with her eyebrows raised as Sherlock seemed to be on cloud nine. She laughed at the look on his face that resembled a kid at Christmas.

"It's not unheard of, y'know." She said. He smiled with pursed lips.

"To me it is." Those four words and Ramona was a mess of emotions. Sadness, happiness, excitement, anxiety, and love. She dropped her barely used cigarette and crushed it with the bottom of her high heel, before leaning forward and kissing Sherlock on the cheek.

"Come on, let's get back inside." She took his hand to lead him back in but was quickly halted when Sherlock wouldn't move. "Sherlock?" He was still staring at where she was stood seconds ago. "Come on, Sherlock." She thought for a second. "It's getting cold, Sherlock." She tried. suddenly he was back online.

"I- yeah, sorry." And he let her lead him back.

* * *

The night carried on with them playing house, and it was dangerously fun for both of them. She leant down quickly to whisper to Hannah 'I'll explain later' before sitting down next to Sherlock with her hand firmly in his.

"Ramona?" She looked up to see Will. "You've changed!"

"You too." She said with a smile at the boy with platinum blond hair and blue eyes. They had been mistaken for twins in high school multiple times and had gotten called 'the twins' on multiple occasions. The kids had definitely been keen on nicknames back then. "How's my favourite twin doing?" She said this because Ramona had a twin, a real biological twin. She'd get here late of course, if she was coming at all.

"Good, cheers, yourself?"

"I'm alright. What've you been doing since graduation?"

"Oh, y'know, I went round Europe for a bit, eventually got an apprenticeship and now I'm an electrician! How's you're real twin?" Sherlock's eyes widen ridiculously large in shock, and Ramona chuckles, but squeezes his hand and gives him a warning look. any giveaway that he didn't know about her family was a sure fire way to get to the conclusion that they weren't actually going out.

"She's good. Well, actually, she could be dead for all I know, but I did hear she was coming, and y'know what she's like, big entrances n'that." Sherlock frowned bemusedly at her accent suddenly coming out after she'd had a few and was talking to a fellow northerner. As ridiculous as it was, he though it was ridiculously endearing, maybe even cute. Suddenly there were hands on Ramona's shoulders, and black hair over hers.

"That's no way to talk about your big sister." an Irish voice said in a musical like tone. Sherlock's eyes were as wide as ever as he looked between them. He was seeing double.

"You're a minute older than me." Ramona said with a dead tone.

"Still counts." She waggled a finger at her, and Ramona rolled her eyes, and then realised what was about to happen.

"And who's this handsome young man?" She stage gasps for emphasis. "You're _boyfriend? _ Mona Coralie Doherty_!" _Another frown from Sherlock was earned_._

"This is my twin sister, Ciara. Ciara, this is my, er," Sherlock looked at her in anticipation. "Boyfriend, Sherlock Holmes." _This was going to get messy._

* * *

**a sort of twist haha**

**this is a sort of the hounds of baskerville adaptation with a cat scary I know :)**

**Also I wanted to flesh out Ramona more, I don't want her to be there for an add-on for Sherlock y'know? **

**Thanks so much for reading :))**


	22. Pumped Up Kicks

**Pumped Up Kicks - Foster The People**

* * *

"Oh, I know all about you." Ciara says with a certain flirty playfulness that Ramona hoped wasn't meant to be there. "How could I not when it was front page on every major newspaper about how you'd offed yourself?" Anger curled inside Ramona, any mention of Sherlock's fall seemed to do that to her.

"Ciara, shut up and sit down, or I will not be held responsible for what happens next." Ramona's calm yet even more menacing voice could be heard as Ciara went to sit down in between the two. Sherlock was suddenly very curious about their mother.

"Alright, don't get narky." Ramona clenched her jaw and glared at her sister for a fleeting second, but it was fast enough to disappear before anyone but Sherlock could see, and he wondered if she even realised she was doing it.

"I didn't think you'd come." She remarked.

"Well, you know me, full of surprises." Ramona swallowed. Sherlock looked confused.

"And where are you staying?" Ciara pulled a seemingly innocent face. "Don't pull that with me, Ciara, you know it doesn't work. How long've you been in England?"

"Oh yeah, you can do that trick, can't you? Tell everyone their life stories."

"It's not a trick." Ramona's voice was strained.

"Tell me how you do it then." Ciara chided.

"Don't try and change the subject, answer my question."

"Well you know me, anywhere that tickles my fancy really." said Ciara lightheartedly.

"Ciara, why didn't you tell me you were back?" For an onlooker it would look like Ramona didn't want her there.

"You're spoiling my fun, Mona. We can talk about it later." Sherlock was already starting to notice subtle differences. Ramona had a certain glint to her eyes, something strangely attractive, and Ciara's eyes were... Normal. They looked exactly the same apart from hair colour, Ciara's was jet black, but apart from that, same face, same nose, same mouth. But their mannerisms, even their _accents _were completely different. Ramona was in all ways her own person. Sherlock realised he didn't think of Ciara as attractive, although she looked exactly the same as Ramona. What was wrong with him? He could tell Ciara had gotten off a plane today, however she had hidden it well, so she must of spent a lot of time going back and forth somewhere. He could tell she had two slices of toast for breakfast today and was single. How come he could tell everything about her and still nothing about Ramona? And why had she called her Mona?

Ramona was about to say something in retaliation but she realised Sherlock was watching. "Fine. Later." She scowled.

"Until then, little sister." And just like that, Ciara was gone. Ramona simply sat in the chair, staring down at the ground and seething. Sherlock licked his lips to speak.

"How much do I actually know about you?" He said quietly.

"About as much as I do." His mouth opens slightly as she shrugs her shoulders. She quickly tries to shakes her dark cloud off. "Come on, let's blow this joint." She gets up to take her jacket off the back of her chair, Sherlock folds his arms indifferently.

"I'm not sure, my parents told me not to talk to strangers." Despite the cutting edge in his voice, Ramona laughed.

"I'll tell you anything you want to know, is that good enough?" Sherlock's blue eyes were filled with excitement as he got up quickly and got his coat.

The pair sat in the nearly empty Mcdonalds in a booth next to the window. Ramona eyed her Large portion of chips and chicken nuggets greedily as Sherlock stole one, to which she quickly growled, causing him to chuckle.

"You have your own!" She hissed, slapping his hand away.

"But that one looked better than mine." Sherlock pouted and Ramona grinned, but still refused him any of her food, as she took a bite out of a nugget.

"Well then, ask away."

"Start from the beginning." Ramona frowned.

"The beginning of what?"

"You." She thought for a minute, and then started explaining.

"My mum's irish, and my biological dad is french. My real name is Mona, which is Irish, and Coralie, my middle name, is French, it's the same for Ciara, I honestly have no idea what my parents were thinking." She shook her head and popped a chip in her mouth. "When we were about 10 they split up, and me, mum and Ciara moved to Leeds from Manchester, that explains my twang I know I have. People despised me as a kid, and honestly I don't blame them." She shrugged as if talking about why people hate rain. "I was cold to everyone, never letting them talk to me for more than a minute. I was a complete loner until year nine, when Hannah moved to the suburb where I lived. From her first day she followed me around, for what must of been three weeks, until finally I gave in, honestly, even now I don't know why she bothered. But looking back, without her, I'd never of come to London, never had met you... I don't know what would of happened to me. Anyway, we were like partners in crime. we'd go around the school, spying on teachers and pupils and solving various 'mysteries', like who kept stealing her pencils in science." Ramona laughed. "Turned out it was just her clumsiness, she kept knocking her pencil case with her hand and they would roll down the side of the desk into this tiny crack in between the floorboards. So yeah, I was very different from other kids; I preferred playing on my own from a very young age, I distanced myself for some reason. But Ciara was a completely different ball game, excelling in everything I didn't, and vice-versa. They called us the 'polarity twins', but that stopped when she left." She takes a sip from her coke, seemingly unphased. He thought she spoke about her past as if reciting a paragraph in a language she didn't speak, like she understood what she was saying, but didn't really know what it meant.

"When she left?" She sighed heavily, looking up and unsettling him slightly with her gaze.

"There's something I didn't tell you about that night, Sherlock. Something game-changing."

"Then change the game." Ramona took a deep breath.

"Are you listening?" She asked, preparing herself to look back at one of the darkest nights of her life.

* * *

"Bloody hell Ciara, there's no way I'm ever doing that!" A teenage Ramona shouted, shorter blonde hair swaying behind her as she stomped into her own room.

"Don't blaspheme!" Their mothers voice could be heard from downstairs, and Ramona rolled her eyes. Ciara quickly followed her in, puppy dog eyes activated.

"Please Mona, you'd be doing me a huge favour. Plus you're always saying about how many dates I go on, it'd be good for you to experience one!"

"I don't care, it's fraud! Why would I ever do something like that for you?"

"Look, Tom really is a nice guy, all you have to do is dye your hair black for one night, act like me and it'll go without a hitch, I promise."

"No. No way."

"People say having a twin is fun." Ciara mumbled. "This is nothing like The Suite Life Of Zak And Cody." Ramona laughed despite herself.

"It's fictional, Ciara. Things like that don't happen in real life 'cos it'd never work. Why can't you just go out with him for one night anyway?"

"I've double booked." Ciara's expression looked like she had just announced Tom had cancer. Her twin was undoubtedly ten times more popular, pretty, all in all a nicer human being then Ramona, but she made up for her loss with an intellect and superiority that towered over Ciara's undoubtedly. It had been freakish for everyone involved when she had first started showing signs of hyper-intelligence. Ciara was secretly very pleased that she triumphed over Ramona in every way, getting favour of every person that met them. She was even more pleased when she had realised she was the prettier twin in childhood and adolescence, and for all of their foreseeable future.

"I reallllllly don't want to hurt his feelings. He's such a sweetheart Mona, please please please just for me." Ramona rolled her eyes. There was no way she was going through with this.

"No amount of please's are going to work. I'm not doing it and that's final." Ciara pouted.

"You're rotten." Ramona's expression didn't seem to change from unwavering. Thought clouded her twin's eyes for a minute. "I'll get you something." Ramona narrowed her eyes.

"What can you get me?" She asked suspiciously. Ciara looked shocked realising she was onto something.

"I- I don't know, I didn't think I'd get this far..." Ramona raised an eyebrow. "I'll get you out of church!" Ciara now whispered, for fear of their mum hearing. Ramona didn't look like she was buying it. "For two Sundays!" She started to close the door but Ciara put a foot in front to stop her. "And I'll get you some guitar-y stuff!" Ramona paused.

"Guitar-y stuff?" She asked incredulously.

"Like, I don't know, stuff you use for it. Like strings, picks, books or whatever. Just help me out, I promise I'll get you all of that." Ramona thought for a minute.

"Alright." Ciara flashed that dazzling smile of hers that made Ramona's stomach curl with jealously. " Hey, Do you think maybe we could do something later like maybe go to the-" Ciara's phone buzzed and she held up a hand to her now deflated sister.

"Sorry Mona, gotta dash. Thanks babe!" And just like that Ciara was gone, and Ramona felt like crying. They had been so close once. After all,they were quite literally two peas in a pod. She remembered primary school when they had dressed alike, and regularly tricked even their mother as to which was which. But then they entered secondary school, and for some strange reason, Ramona's hair had turned blonde. She still didn't know how or why it had happened, but maybe it was some kind of sick metaphor from god for the difference of the two. Although if this was the case, surely Ramona should have the darker hair? She had been stupid to actually think Ciara would want to do anything with her, stupid to let her guard down. A border collie puppy suddenly comes bounding up the stairs towards her and she eagerly crouches to meet him. scratching behind the dogs ear, she seems more at ease instantly, and sets out on the task of dying her hair.

* * *

Sherlock looked thoroughly shocked. She feared at any moment he would simply be done with her, now he knew everything about her she would be cast aside Molly Hooper style. The thought scared her more then anything had in a long time.

"But that doesn't explain why she left."

"For the police, a murderer is a murderer, whether it be self defence or not." Sherlock winced and looked away. "Who's name do you think Tom gave when he was asked who we was with that day? I passed out after I- after I-" _Killed somebody. _"When I woke up, I was still in hospital, and very disorientated. After I remembered what had happened I started to panic, and I never do that." _Until Sherlock's in danger. Which is generally all the time. _"I pulled my morphine out, got my clothes from the chair in the room, and jumped out of the window, which was luckily only the second floor. There was a big man-hunt for me, and when I came back after around two months," Ramona gritted her teeth. "I found out that... Tom had told them he was with Ciara, because he thought that was the case. They had arrested her and seen that she didn't have any kind of gun shot wound or anything, they thought she was lying. But Ciara went with it." She shook her head at her sisters idiocy. "The court case was the next day, so I was naturally there. She ended up getting a year and a half in a juvenile detention centre. It's my fault." Ramona already knew that the last sentence could be applied to any part of the story and make sense. Sherlock had was completely lost in thought. "I shouldn't have gone in the first place, I shouldn't of run away, I shouldn't of been such an idiot and pulled that trigger." Her voice was getting choked and she couldn't even bear to look at Sherlock, who she knew would have a judgement attitude to this.

"It's not your fault." Her eyes widened and she looked up, only to see kindness.

"What?" Her eyes widen and she almost winces at his ability to make her feel so warm at his acceptance, that she really shouldn't care about.

"You're the victim. Blaming you would be illogical." He paused, gauging every element of her reaction, how tortured and bewildered she looked that he could possibly say something like that. "Who else knows?"

"Hannah." Something hollowed inside of Sherlock and he felt strangely touched that she should share something like this with the likes of him, and then started to feel guilty that he had asked in the first place. "Anyway, how are you feeling?" She asked, and Sherlock smiled.

"It's half twelve and we're in a Mcdonalds." He chuckled. "Not exactly how I'd envisioned the trip, but surprisingly okay." They got up to leave.

Arriving back they find themselves at the hotels bar instead of their room, where it would of been best that they had gone. Ramona had gotten more information about the key for her room tomorrow, however she was puzzled as the woman had said the top floor, she had counted eight floors when they had first got here and yet she had gotten a room on the seventh. as she got change for her vodka and coke she decided to ask the barman about it.

"If there's anything else I can help you with, just ask." He smiled politely at Ramona.

"Actually, there is."

"Oh?"

"The top floor; why is it out of use? It'd be stupid to use it for storage, and its a waste of rooms not to use it, surely?" At this point Sherlock was listening intently too.

"We're not really supposed to talk about that, Miss." Ramona put on a dazzling smile and began to act like her sister, who was on Irene Adler's level of vixen.

"Ramona, call me Ramona." The man blinked, and Sherlock narrowed his eyes.

"R- right, well , Ramona, I can tell you that it is currently under renovation." She pouted.

"I haven't seen or heard any construction works or scaffolding." She'd caught him.

"I- I'm sorry, but I really have to-"

"I'd never tell anyone." She said, and the mans eyes seemed to widen. Sherlock began to taste rancid anger in his mouth. Ramona decides exploiting men's ultimate weakness is the best option now. "What's the harm in letting me have a little fun?" The barman was incapacitated, and surprisingly so. She sighed into her glass, seemingly forlorn. "Oh well, and I was thinking, all those empty rooms, the complete privacy of it all," She looks up to meet his eye. "Imagine all the mischief you could get up to in there?" In truth she had been thinking this, just less sexual exploits and more infamous murder case that she could solve. The man seemed to splutter before sitting down at their table, looking over his shoulder for any of his superiors and then leaving his voice to a hush. Sherlock fought to not grind his teeth at how easily lying came to Ramona.

"You've heard of the black cat of Basker Hotel, yes?" Ramona looked confused, but nodded anyway. She'd google it.

"If it was a cat, you think there'd be a problem containing something like that?"

"What are you suggesting here?"

"The hotel, it covered up a lot. The people who died- they didn't report anything of the sort. What they did report however, was a big, black jaguar with red eyes." Ramona paused.

"What?"

"This only happened to people staying on the top floor, however. As long as you stay away from the top floor, you'll be fine." Sherlock butted in.

"You can't be serious."

"Deadly." The man replied.

"A black jaguar roaming on the top floor of an inner-city northern England hotel, seems likely." Sherlock scoffed.

"I bet you that he has proof, Sherlock." He catches on instantly, and they both realise they are a pair of wolves circling a lost lamb. Sherlock laughes.

"Twenty quid says it's a myth. What does some barman know?"

"Well you're about to lose your money mate, 'cause I've got proof." He takes a phone out of his pocket and shows the screen to reveal a pitch black hallway, and an extremely fuzzy, distant outline, and what appeared to be two cat eyes, hovering tall above the carpet.

"Is that it? It's not exactly proof, is it?" Sherlock says, not bothering to hide a skeptical snigger. "Sorry, Ramona. I win." He goes to take the money.

"Wait, wait. That's not all." Ramona smiles thankfully (and falsely) and the man looks so happy with himself, she almost feels bad to believe that he was manipulated this easily. "People don't like going up there, gives them a... bad feeling."

"Ooh! Is it haunted?" Sherlock asks sarcastically.

"Nah, don't be stupid, nothing like that, but I reckon there is something out there – something from the genetics lab across the road escaped." Sherlock laughed.

"What, a massive Jaguar came out onto the street, got in the lift and pressed the button for the eighth floor?"

"No." The man said sternly. "I think it had help. And whatever's up there isn't a normal animal. Some would argue it aint even of this world." The ominous tone in his voice caused the detectives to look up at each other at the same time, suddenly interested.

"Is that the best you've got?" He nodded to the low quality image on the mans phone.

"I had a mate once who worked for a security guard company. One weekend we were meant to go to see Leeds United play Everton, but he never showed up – well, not 'til late. When he did, he was white as a sheet. I can see him now. 'I've seen things today, George,' he said, 'that I never wanna see again. Terrible things.' He'd been sent to some secret messed up genetic lab." "In the labs there – the really secret labs, he said he'd seen... terrible things. Rats as big as cats, he said, and cats..." George leans closer and digs a hand into his inside coat pocket. "...Cats the size of horses." The thing he had produced from his pocket was a concrete cast of a big cat's paw print, and it is at least nine inches long from the tip of the claws to the back of the pad. Sherlock stares at it in surprise as Ramona smiles happily, sipping the last of her vodka &amp; coke.

"Fifty, right?" She smirks as she slides the money over to her side of the table.

It's quiet as they walk back to their room.

"So we're going up there, aren't we?"

"Of course." Sherlock smiled as he opened the door.

Ramona pulled out her laptop, now sat cross legged on the bed in the warmly lit hotel room, watching a re-run of some cheesy old 90's movie as she waited for it to boot up.

"You didn't tell me the proper story." She stated as calmly as possible, although she was a bit irritated.

"Of course I didn't." Sherlock's face appears from the door frame to the bathroom, toothbrush in hand. "You wouldn't of come if you'd had known." She looked at him super incredulously.

"Are you kidding me?" He gave her a 'you're not fooling anyone' look.

"You had a panic attack when a gun was pointed at your head and I was given a countdown. It seems I have underestimated you're willpower for the supernatural, though." He shrugs and disappears back into the bathroom.

"Well, it's not real though, is it?" She says, now scrolling through the various articles and theory websites of 'The Jaguar of Basker Hotel'. "How would it even survive? It's an old wives tale, nothing else."

"Interesting though, isn't it?" He could be heard. She nodded even though he couldn't see her.

"Mm, I'd like to see what it really is." She clicks onto the most reputable looking website and waits for the slow hotel wifi. "People have died up there, from what..." She stops as she sees an almost sickening image of a victim with maul marks and and deep bites from what could only be 5-6 inch teeth, lying on a carpet like the one out in the hallway. "Jesus..." She whispers, suddenly unsettled.

"What?" He asks, walking in wearing a dark green shirt and long pyjama bottoms going past his ankles and his second favourite dressing gown.

"Nothing, nothing." She shakes her head dismissively. "I've already figured out how we're getting up there." He raises an eyebrow as he sits on the sofa, flicking through channels with the tv remote.

"Oh really?"

"Yeah, there's the fire escape." She turns the laptop so he can see the screen, that display a set of blueprints of the building they're in. He narrows his eyes at the sight and then turns to her.

"How did you get those?" She shrugs nonchalantly and turns the laptop back to herself.

"Hacked the city council's architectural office website. Considerably easy, but it's tougher from since I was a kid." He took a moment.

"You hacked the official city councils website when you were a teenager?" He asks incredulously. She holds up a finger.

"Kid. Twelve, to be precise." He looked baffled.

"Why?" She shrugged.

"My guitar teacher was late." He chuckled and smiled at her profile. He phone buzzes next to her.

**(1) Message from: Hannah Knowles**

**You're meeting me Tomorrow and we're going to discuss everything that happened. What was that anyway? **

It was Hannah, understandably baffled by the events that took place at the school. She thought and chose her words carefully.

**Alright. **

_Careful enough. _

**That's all you have to say for yourself?**

She frowned.

**Yes. **

A reply was instant.

**Look, whatever's going on with you and Sherlock, I totally respect it. However, bit annoyed that you didn't tell me!**

She rolled her eyes. Ramona was- Kind of- on a case, she didn't have time for distracting emotions.

**Nothing**** Is going on between me and Sherlock. It was just a joke, I promise. **

She nodded to herself.

**Still, Ramona. Ciara isn't going to believe that for long, with that weird connection thing. **

This was true and very problematic. They often say twins share a special connection, sensing and knowing each other as much as themselves, and they were true. If they were going to see her family and Ciara was there, would she out her?

**Actually, I hadn't thought about that. Cheers.**

Ramona thought this would be a sufficient way to end the conversation.

**Where are you?**

_Apparently not. _

**Basker Hotel.**

**What?! THE Basker Hotel? **

Ramona frowned.

**What do you mean 'THE Basker Hotel'? **

Confusion flooded her.

**Haven't you seen anything about it? It was all over the news at one point- My mum's adamant that place is evil, she won't go in. **

That was right, Her mother was a self proclaimed 'medium'. She rolled her eyes.

**Well, if Mummy says it's dangerous, it must be!**

Ramona immediately regretted saying it, and began to worry about her reaction.

**Hey, shut up man. Be careful in there Ramona, sleep in your room at night and get out in the morning. **

She smiled at her patient friend.

**Thanks, Han. I'll meet you the day after tomorrow, going to my parents tomorrow. **

She then realised Sherlock was staring closely at her, with an uncomfortable air about him. He turned the television off.

"What's wrong?"

"I- Just... How's this going to work?" Ramona frowned.

"This?"

"Sleeping arrangements."

"Ah. Well, that couch doesn't look too comfortable." Sherlock nodded and she realised how badly that sounded- Like she _wanted _for this to happen. "We were both adults, last time I checked." Sherlock nodded. "You being the way you are... Oh god, I didn't mean it like that, I meant as in-" She fumbled for words.

"It's fine." A ghost of a smile on his lips.

"Well, if you're afraid I'm going to rape you in the night, you don't have to be. I'm sure I'll be able to handle my ferocious unrequited lust for you just this one night." She said sarcastically, and Sherlock reddened slightly and looked away, causing her to frown. Ramona shut her laptop and placed it on the bedside table, before pulling the covers down off the bed and climbing in.

"I suppose I'll have to take my chances." He said, and she laughed, although she was racked with nerves and fluttering inside her stomach, doing somersaults at the fact she would lie down next to him.

He walks around her and gets in the other side, systematically turning off all the lights in the room, leaving them in an inky darkness for a second. At this point it was three am and they hadn't bothered shutting the balcony curtains, which she had perfect view of the city from her side of the bed. She turned her back to him to look properly, also not wanting to make him feel uncomfortable. She smiled at the sight of thousands of little lights in the cathedrals of finance, and the little flashing lights in the sky children routinely mistake for stars, and are disheartened to find out that, no, that was in fact not a shooting star, just a boring old airplane, nothing special.

"This really is an amazing view." Sherlock stared at the back of her head and her back.

"Yeah." He uttered in response, realising they probably weren't talking about the same thing. "I can't wait to meet your parents tomorrow." He said mischievously, trying to steer away from anything too serious. She moaned loudly and pushed her head into the feather pillow, causing her to disappear from his sight for a moment. He felt flustered at the obviously innocent noise.

"Don't remind me." She paused, turning to face him on her side. "My sister's probably gonna be there, y'know." She yawned, admittedly adorably. Sherlock frowned, horrified he could think such a thing. He thought about what she had said.

"Oh. OH."

"Mm, we're going to have to do that again." She studied Sherlock's blank expression. "Sorry."

"Don't apologise. It's those prats you went to school with you have to thank for this opportunity." There is a long silence.

"Sherlock?"

"Mm?"

"Are you ever going to... Y'know, actually settle down? Get a girlfriend?" Sherlock seems slightly startled by the unexpected question, one he had admittedly thought about too often.

"Not really my department."

"Oh... So a boyfriend, then?" Ramona felt disheartened.

"Not my department either, I'm afraid." He chuckled, and something lifted from her chest.

"Won't you ever get bored, though? When everyone goes off and gets married and you're..." She couldn't bare to think of Sherlock being lonely, which must of happened before. He propped himself up on one elbow, suddenly serious.

"And you're going to 'go off and get married?" His eyes were earnest, and she lay on her back and stared at non-existent patterns on the ceiling in the dark room, deep in thought.

"I don't know. I've been told I... Don't feel love in the same way. I'm not sure if I want to put someone through that. If the right person comes along, it'll just happen, I suppose."

"So they haven't come along yet?" Her eyes widened slightly at the small amount of hurt that was shown through his voice.

"I'm not sure. I doubt I'll ever get married, actually."

"The likelihood of you not getting married in the next two years, taking your age, attractiveness, location, and work placement, is about eighty seven percent." Sherlock realised too late that he shouldn't of said that, it sounded too much like he had already researched this, which he had, but that wasn't the point.

"Interesting. However, I don't mind the idea of us two, at Baker Street, solving mysteries and running around London until we're eighty seven." Sherlock smiled fondly, confusing himself in her presence, as per usual. The idea that she might never live with another person apart from him, might never nag another man to take fingers out of the butter dish, was something he liked too much to be healthy.

"That sounds-" He took one look at her, and realised she had fallen asleep. Her breathing was even and deep, and it was relaxing- hypnotic even, just to look at her sleep. She looked so innocent and at peace, like she hadn't even seen the real world yet. He smiled and drifted off quickly next to her.

Ramona awoke at nine-thirty slowly, coming to her wits. She quickly felt that a lanky leg was tangled in between her own, and there was a surprisingly tight arm around her waist, locking her into position. She thought about how embarrassing it would be for both of them if Sherlock woke up to find himself like this, so she tried to get out of his grip, but to no avail, as every time she tried to get out, he would grunt and move closer to her, and she began to feel like his stuffed toy. And then she became aware that he probably wouldn't get a hard-on over a teddy. Her face burnt an impossible shade of red, embarrassed for the both of them. But then she could feel his face nuzzled into her hair, hear his peaceful breath in her ear, and started to relax. Then she realised she hadn't had a nightmare, and confusion suffocated her embarrassment violently. Had it been because of Sherlock? Had his presence really cured her of night terrors? It seemed ridiculous, but strangely believable. She shifted to face him, and was taken aback at how his bed-hair fell perfectly, how his face looked, completely serene and free from any frowns. He was arrogantly beautiful, and she almost hated him for being so perfect. How could he look like that, think like that, dress like that, and speak like that? However, if anyone could be confident to the point of ridiculous, it was this man. The one she was in the arms of. A pang runs through her as she realises he has slept way in for his standards, three hours approximately, and she had been trying to make him sleep every night.

"Ramonergggh." A quiet raspy whimper emitted from Sherlock. She frowned.

"Sherlock?" A tiny whisper, barely audible. There was no reaction from the Consulting Detective. Was he... Dreaming about her? Her eyes widened slightly and her stomach flipped. It was definitely too early for all these feelings, definitely too early.

* * *

**The next chapters already half written, so shouldn't be too long :)**

**Thanks so much for reviews + favourites and follows!**


	23. Something Good Can Work

**Something Good Can Work - Two Door Cinema Club**

* * *

_He's walking towards the restaurant with a case in mind, he's recognising it as Angelo's. The consulting detective is a few years older and alone, as the warm lights from the restaurant seem to fuzz into a deeper haze with every step he doesn't want to take. Walking inside suddenly everything is black and white apart from her. He knows it's her and he hasn't even seen her yet. She radiates complexity and chaos, her colours changing for him like a mood ring. Ramona is also alone, sat at a table staring out of the window with psychedelic blue swirling eyes. He purses his lips and walks to her. She turns and hynotises him with one look from her eyes that doubled as kaleidoscopes._

_"Sherlock! Long time no see, eh?" She was happy, more cheerful than she had ever been with him. "How've you been?" Sherlock opens his mouth to speak but its too late. A built man that was also colourful had wide shoulders and brown short hair with ferris wheel eyes. "Oh, you haven't met, have you?" Sherlock simply shakes his head as the man smiles contently and kisses Ramona. "This is my husband." Ramona smiles like she was going to burst and Sherlock suddenly spots the big wedding and engagement rings on her finger. He looks down at his hands and realises he is in black and white, just a part of the background. Suddenly Sherlock is falling, a trapdoor pulled from beneath him, nothing there to stop him, then the cement is rushing to meet him_.

_He died properly. No magic tricks, no smoke and mirrors, plain and simple death._

"Sherlock!" He wakes to the woman in/of his dreams shaking him violently.

"Nnnghh, what?" He asks, sleep croaking his voice.

"You were shouting! Jesus, and you're sweating like a nun in a brothel!" She sweeps his damp curls off his forehead. She looked more concerned than she would like to admit. He laughs at her analogy and sits up.

"Bad dream." He studies her. "Nightmare, actually." She looked like she was personally hurt at this, and he wished he hadn't said anything. Ramona sat at the end of the bed cross legged.

"What was it about?" He decided to lie.

"I can't remember."

"You're lying." He decided she was too good for her own sake.

"Moriarty." Sherlock said in a sarcastic tone. Ramona looked out of the window to see the day was completely overcast, dark and light clouds littering and completely covering the morning sky.

"You're still lying." He scowled, before getting a bit flustered, realising he could of been shouting anything. "Get a shower. Maybe that'll jog your memory." He almost laughed at how she could make anything sound sinister.

After they had both taken a shower, Ramona sat putting her hair into a ponytail, in blue mom jeans rolled at the bottom, a white blouse and white ankle converse with a baggy woolly mustard coloured cardigan, which was nothing Sherlock thought she would normally wear. Ramona must of noticed his puzzled face studying her outfit.

"My parents really don't approve of anything that doesn't resemble me looking like a ten year old." She vents, obviously an unresolved issue in her family.

"Why'd you bother dressing any different then?" She glared at his joke and Sherlock grinned slightly. "So I take it you're not christian?"

"No, my family are though. I pretend I don't believe in evolution so I don't get disowned." She laughs, and Sherlock's curiosity about her family only strengthens. "The house is a fifteen minute walk from here, don't expect much." He wondered if her eyes always looked this big without eye makeup. "Ready to go then?" She got up and walked to the door, looking more innocent than he cared to think about.

"Yeah." He got up and followed her out.

As they were walking through the start of a lower-middle class suburban estate, Ramona's hand went to Sherlock's and shock reverberated through him for a second, before he realised what she was doing. He brought his hand to his face to see what she had given him, as he followed her up a drive, to see a silver cross on a chain. She turned to him as she put her own gold one on.

"Oh, by the way, if anyone asks you're Catholic." She winked at him and knocked as he stared open mouthed, before putting it on without hesitation. Ramona took a deep breath and looked like a gymnast stretching before a show, Sherlock realised she was now a completely different person. All her mannerisms had changed, the way she looked at things and what she did with her hands, looking milder by the minute. Everything was wiped clean and rebooted. This troubled Sherlock immensely, that she had to do this, that she had the capacity to. However, her pretense drops completely as the door is flung open.

"What're you doing here?" Ramona frowned and crossed her arms, resting her weight on one leg. Sherlock smirked at how she was herself again.

"That's no way to speak to your big sister, have some respect for your elders!" Ciara answered playfully. "Mum's popped out to Morrison's, weren't expecting you." She gestured for them to come in. Inside there was a staircase opposite them and a door to the left of them.

"Hasn't changed." Ramona stated. Her eyes were flitting about, as if looking for something.

"It's mum, what do you expect?" Ciara opened the door to the living room, to reveal a Sofa and armchair to the far side and a coffee table with a television on the wall of the side they now had their backs to, as the walked through the living room to another door, entering into the kitchen, a simple, old wooden dining table to their left and the whole kitchen to their right.

"Home sweet home." Ramona remarked. At this point a big border collie came bounding up to her, jumping up. Sherlock saw Ramona's eyes light up and become filled with pure joy.

"Hello Freydis!" Sherlock frowned bemusedly and looked down at her.

"Freydis?" He said incredulously. Ramona frowned as if it was like calling her fluffy. "Really?"

"Why not?" Ramona answered defensively as Ciara rolled her eyes, whilst getting three mugs from a cupboard and putting a kettle over the hob.

"She wanted to be a viking when she was little." Ciara said. Ramona turned to her as if she had just revealed nuclear launch codes. Sherlock laughed.

" Freydis was the ultimate viking warrior princess, okay? She chased off hostile Vinland natives by herself, armed with only a sword, whilst pregnant." Ramona's eyes seemed far away and she enthused, and Sherlock pondered on her sanity.

"A viking?" Sherlock laughed.

"A pirate?" His laughing stopped dead and his mouth parted slightly in shock. How could she have possibly worked this out?

"How did you..." His voice trailed off.

"When I was sorting out your stuff in your room, there were these photographs," She reminisced like they were her photographs, smiling fondly. "It was a tiny version of you, with an Irish Setter. On the back it was 'William and Redbeard', you looked very close to the dog, so you might of named it. Redbeard in Italian is Barbarossa, Frederick Barbarossa was a notorious pirate." Sherlock stared and then turned to the dog. "So be quiet or I'll start calling you William." He still simply stared.

She stopped at a simple white wooden door with panels in, opening it eagerly to reveal a medium sized room with a large window on the left hand, a single bed under this length-ways. The wall opposite them had a large desk pushed up against it with an office chair tucked under it that Sherlock could imagine a teenage Ramona sat in in the early hours of the morning, trying to finish homework for the next day. Another window was above the desk, and on the right hand side was a medium sized wooden wardrobe. On the wall the door was on there was a big bookcase, although this was seemingly not enough as it had been stuffed full, and then books had been put horizontally on top of the vertical ones, and they were littered systematically on the windowsills. On further inspection it became apparent that one shelf was wholly dedicated to books about art and classical music, another devoted to books on different countries and culture, the rest purely detective and murder mysteries. Next to this bookcase was a record player stand and then the actual thing on top, with records tucked underneath. If you saw this bedroom you would immediately think late twenties, not teenager. He could imagine Ramona perching on her windowsill and smoking out of the window, before hearing her mum coming up the stairs and quickly stubbing it out, waving around the room to stop the telling smell of tobacco. Ramona sits on her bed with her legs crossed and looks around uninterested, whilst Sherlock sits in the office chair, opening all of the draws for something interesting.

"I'm afraid you won't find anything interesting in there." He opens the bottom draw and his eyes light up. Photo albums.

"I beg to differ."

"You really don't have to..." He opened the first page and sniggered, whilst she melted with embarrassment. Her school photos caused this reaction. In the first photo a fresh faced year seven Ramona gave an big toothy grin that she had obviously yet to grow into, freckles littering a chubby face, and a short mousy bob with a middle parting.

"I'm sure you were just as bad looking in year seven." She takes the book defensively. "Not all of us were blessed with good-looks, y'know." Sherlock froze for a moment. Had she just said he was good looking? Ramona seeming read his mind and laughed. "Don't flatter yourself." She handed it back to him. "Just don't laugh at eleven year old me and we won't have a problem."

"Can I laugh at twenty-three year old you?" Sherlock smirked. He looks back in the draw to find piles of comics. Ramona keeps looking around as he pulls a batman graphic novel out called Hush. After flicking through it Ramona turns to him and scrambles to get it out of his hands, now holding it protectively.

"Do you know how fragile these things are?" She inspects the spine of the book to see no rips or tears.

"Oh my god, you're a complete geek."

"What? No I'm not." She puts it back in the draw. "You can't say anything, I bet you were top of the class."

"I bet you were too."

"We can't help that we're geniuses." She winked as he smiled warmly.

"I think the correct term is genei?" He stated. She stared at him with narrowed eyes, bemused and sarcastic, before bursting out into laughter.

"Maybe theres just one genius here." She said with a smirk.

"Yeah; me." They both chuckled.

They stared at each other for a second before her attention suddenly turned to her phone jumping to life in her pocket. She pulled it out as it still rang in her hand. It was Hannah. "Gonna have to take this, I'll have to trust you don't set something on fire whilst I'm downstairs?" He nodded and after a while she heard someone walk down the stairs, presumably Ramona.

Sherlock stood up to look out of the window, at what she had probably looked at a million times. There was a good view of a large rectangular park, a clearing with a few trees surrounding it and then back to suburbia, an oasis in a desert of concrete. It was completely empty in the dreary weather, the sky now greying to resemble clay. A gentle drizzle of rain hit the window as he looked, and he mentally rolled his eyes at the weather fulfilling its British stereotype.

The door suddenly opens and closes again behind him, and he turns from the window to see Ramona, except something's different. Her eyes don't quite look as magnificent, something about her atmosphere is less intense, less noticeable, more subtle and almost devious. Sherlock frowned but before he could say anything she was very close to him, making him unusually uncomfortable. Sherlock realises that the woman is slowly leaning up, coming closer. He wasn't moving away, but he wasn't moving any closer either.

There was not an ounce of hesitation in Sherlock's mind, even though he could sense something wasn't wrong. He would kiss this woman, hell, he would kiss Ramona. Stop. Stop thinking like this. But she obviously feels the same. Oh god, she feels the same! Please, don't be naive. this is a trick. A woman like her, a man like you?

"Ramona... What are you..."He suddenly got the recognisable scent of hair dye and that was it, but unfortunately, too little too late for the consulting detective.

"What the fuck..." Ramona was in the doorway, gaping at the two, noses an inch away, looking as if she had seen a ghost. Her hands went loose and then formed fists at her sides. Looking between the two, she looked horrified, and who wouldn't be? "What are you..." Sherlock straightened up and tried to walk over to her, but she put up a hand to stop him and he obeyed. "Why are you..." She gestured to Ciara's hair.

"I know, it looks great." Ciara said happily. Ramona didn't seem to respond, instead she turned round and slammed the two doors behind her that led outside. "Lovely when family gets together, isn't it?" Claimed Ciara happily, admiring herself in the small mirror.

Ramona sat in the park on a bench slightly sheltered by a big oak tree, her hair starting to get wet in the gentle rain that was barely there. She covered a cigarrette with her hand and tried to light it three times before she struck success, shivering slightly and looking around the dismal park, simply wondering why.

"Those things'll kill you, y'know." A deep baritone voice behind her. She didn't bother to look from straight ahead as he sat next to her.

"Good." She blew smoke into the chilly air. "I don't think I can live a second longer after having that image seared into my brain." Sherlock chuckled slightly beside her, and she willed herself not to let her teeth start chattering, after leaving her cardigan inside.

"Nothing would've happened. I realised who she was, but unfortunately, too late." He said it like something would of happened if he thought it was her, and she felt oddly excited by this.

"I'm sorry about her." She turned to him. "I don't think she's buying that we're together. A control freak by all accounts."

"We have a lot in common."

"She's not my older sister."

"Yes she is."

"By a couple minutes."

"Mentally, not physically."

"What's that supposed to mean?" Ramona looked like she would fight him right there if he said the wrong thing.

"Nothing." There was a two second moment of silence where all he could hear was the wind rustling through the trees behind them.

"She's gay, you know."

"Yeah, it's pretty obvious."

"Really? I'd think that trying to get off with the opposite gender would imply being straight."

"Not everything's so obvious." She paused and turned to him, something resonating with her in his words. _Not everything's so obvious. What are you hiding, Sherlock?_

"She's probably bisexual or something, now that I think about it." She started to play with her lighter, the one from Buckingham palace. "God that makes me sound like an awful sister, not even knowing if she likes boys or girls or both or none." _And letting her go to jail for you. Letting her take the blame. You deserve this._

"Yeah well, it's not like she's up for a nomination for sibling of the year anytime soon." They both chuckled, before she set another serious tone.

"Mm." She hummed in agreement. After noticing his large intakes of breath near her, she decided to stub out the cigarette onto the dirt below them and step on it, rotating her foot for good measure. Sherlock winced, watching in slow motion. "I just... I wish you would have known earlier." Sherlock raised an eyebrow. "I have this strange notion that... Maybe one day, someone'll be able to tell us apart. Except if you're not that person," She looked to him, a sadness in her eyes that he couldn't quite pinpoint the starting point of. "I don't know who is." Sherlock hated this. Hated how he wasn't that one special person for her, someone else was. Someone else that she hadn't even met meant more to her.

"I can tell you apart." She gave him an incredulous look. "Your eyes are slightly different shades. Hers are more basic, whereas yours are..." He leaned in to get a good look. "I can never tell." Sherlock realised that she had stilled, and he would think her frozen if not for the slight shaking of her jaw and her chest slowly rising and falling. He was such an idiot. What good was being the best detective in the world if you couldn't even figure out one of your best friends from a clone? "She doesn't have a freckle here," He puts a cold finger on the side of her neck and smiles slightly at her. "She doesn't do that bizarre smile and eyebrow wiggling you give me when you think no one else is watching." She smiled shyly and put her hands around the back of his neck, making his breathing stop

"Don't worry, I'm just taking this off." Her hands brought back the silver chain and cross he had been wearing. "You look odd with it on." She shoved it in her back pocket.

"Not exactly my style. Or my religion." He mused, watching a lone dog walker with a small brown dog in the distance

"Yeah. The only religious paraphernalia you'd ever wear is a deerstalker." He gave her a look and she laughed. He only laughed because he was happy she had cheered up. Then he saw that she had gotten goosebumps all on her arms and she was shivering slightly, her hair becoming damp from the hideous weather. She had left the house without her cardigan. He didn't see her shivering as they went to walk back to the hotel.

The rain started to get harder and eventually started to come down with an unnatural force. They had taken the 'scenic route' as Ramona had put it, which was basically walking along the Leeds-Liverpool canal to get back into the city. Sherlock turned to Ramona in the rain who's blouse was now completely soaked and stuck to her, becoming see through fast. He swallowed and stopped, taking off his coat. Ramona frowned as he held it up above both of their heads like a mobile shelter, the rain now only a sound. Sherlock smiled down at her and they continued walking, Ramona struggling to not lean into him. Their bodies moved slightly closer together, and Sherlock realised she was two inches away from practically huddling into him. His heart started to pump even harder as he started to pull the coat down a bit, and his arm was a couple of inches away from her shoulder. He could pretend his arm hurt. He could pass it off. He could-

"Leave room for Jesus!" A strong, heavy woman's Irish voice made them jump back and away from each other.

"Oh god." Ramona murmured before turning to face the voice. Sherlock turned with her to see an very small old woman with flared jeans and an old raincoat on her short grey hair left untouched by the rain, and in her hands were Tesco shopping bags.

"Is that..." Sherlock whispered.

"Yep." Ramona replied, before stepping into character.

"Sherlock, this is my mum, Kathleen. Mum, this is Sherlock Holmes, my-" Kathleen took Sherlock by the hand and shook it heartily.

"Yer boyfriend." Her mum winked at Sherlock. Ramona suddenly felt her mouth go dry at the realisation she had taken their necklaces off. "Ciara's told me all about you." Ramona frowned momentarily. _Ciara? Why is Ciara being like this with Sherlock? Unhealthy obsession with me? Or him..._

"Why were you walking?"

"Always good to get some fresh air in ya lungs." She said happily. Obviously she was too old for the internet.

"Let me help you with your bags." Sherlock went to take them, smiling, but she pulled them back out of his reach.

"A gentleman as well! Come back for some tea love." She said to Ramona, as she shook her head with pursed lips.

"I can't. Ciara-"

"What's that ruddy girl been up to now?" She shook her head and sighed, suddenly looking slightly put upon. "No matter. Ring me soon love. And I like this one." Ramona tried not to smirk.

"Yeah mum. I'll see you later." She kissed her on the cheek and they went their seperate ways. They had always been quite close, so close that they could love each other miles apart and with little words. Ramona turned and started walking away, Sherlock following.

"The other one?"

"She didn't like Toby." Sherlock put his arm around her shoulder.

"That makes two of us, then." Ramona gave him a stern look as he chuckled.

When they arrived through the sliding hotel doors Ramona resisted the urge to take off her shoes and socks, as she was soaked to the bone everywhere, and was certain she resembled some sort of vermin, as Sherlock still managed to look ridiculously good, his wet hair slicked back completely.

"I like your hair like that." She muttered, immediately regretting complimenting him. Sherlock scoffed and took it the wrong way.

"You can talk. I never realised how much one person could resemble a drowned rat." She frowned and gaped slightly as she looked up at him, shocked from the sudden change in attitude. Sherlock's eyes widen and he instantly scrambles for an apology. "I- I mean, did you know a rat can go longer than a camel without having water? The have fantastic memory-"

"Just keep digging that hole, Sherlock." She silenced him as she put a hand to her freezing face to wipe rainwater from her cheeks, suddenly very glad she didn't wear eye makeup today beginning to walk away from him. Sherlock puts his finger under her chin and pulls her face towards him with a , taking away a drop of water that had been about to fall. she blushed and began walking upstairs.

Ramona had changed, and her clothes were hung on the big radiator in the bathroom as she went to flick the kettle on in their room, her hair in the process of drying.

"So we're breaking in there then?" Ramona shouted to Sherlock, who was currently getting dressed in the bathroom.

"Depends. I'd prefer to leave the north without a criminal record."

"Well," Ramona looked out of the big window to the old building opposite and lower down, rain still pounding on the double glazed glass. "We could zipwire there, go down the fire escape, one of the vents..." Sherlock leaned out of the bathroom door, topless and incredulous.

"This isn't some hollywood film, Ramona. Chances are with that plan we'd end up either dead or maimed in under ten seconds." He went back into the bathroom, leaving Ramona blushing and staring down at the desk at his lack of a shirt.

"You're no fun." She muttered and almost jumped as the kettle went off and she poured a cup of coffee for Sherlock. "What do you suggest then?" Sherlock emerged from the bathroom, (fully clothed,) and started to type furiously on his laptop.

"Connections, Doherty." He winked at her. "It's all about who and what you know." She simply raised an eyebrow.

"Look, I need access to that top floor!" A woman hit her palms on the counter of the check I desk, looking outraged and half mad.

"I'm sorry miss, but it's dangerous up there, the construction-"

"I know exactly why it's dangerous up there! My father, if he had only known!" Ramona and Sherlock exchanged a look.

"I'm going to have to call security if you-"

"Just ten minutes, please!" They watched the brown haired woman closely as she was taken out by security.

"I'm sorry, but do you mind telling us what that was about in there?" They had followed her out and were currently confronting her on the street.

"Sorry, I don't thing I really have the time..."

"We're detectives. If anything springs to mind, don't hesitate to call us." Sherlock hands her a business card and they made their way across the street to the lab.

The building looked like it wasn't being used at all, and the windows were one way mirrors. Everything looked like it hadn't been used in ages, like it was magically cleaned, a facade. Sherlock pushed the button on the intercom nearly invisible intercom.

"Pass, please." A man's voice through the intercom. Sherlock reaches into his coat pocket and scans it on a small card reader on the wall barely visible. The door makes a small beep sound to indicate it is unlocked and they walk inside, suddenly greeted with a long, modern white hallway with two scanners like at airports, no windows and two men with big guns, standing at the end and guarding a lift. She looks up at him and he shows her the card, not bothering to look as she read Mycroft's name.

"We'll get caught." She muttered under her breath.

" No we won't – well, not just yet."

"I give it five minutes. 'Oh, hi, we just thought we'd come and have a wander round your top secret genetics lab.' 'Really? Great! Come in – kettle's just boiled!' That's if we don't get shot." He shot her a serious look.

"I'd never put you in danger." He said in a suddenly serious tone, catching her out, and she almost felt embarrassed, missing a pace before returning to his stride. The security guards come to meet them at the scanner. They both go through, but something beeps when Ramona passes. The soldier is suddenly staring her down, and she tried hard not to roll her eyes.

"It's, uh," She taps the left lower side of her abdomen. "A bullet. They decided not to remove it, major artery and organ and all that." The soldier looked unimpressed not phased at all, and Sherlock tried to look like it didn't majorly bother him that she had ever been staring down the barrel of a gun. His gaze drifts to the soldiers gun and he has a flash of guilt hit him. The soldier walked over to the lift and said some things in hushed tones into his walky-talky, before the lift opened.

"This way sir."

"Mycroft's name literally opens doors!" Ramona hissed as they both got into the lift.

"I've told you – he practically is the British government. I reckon we've got about twenty minutes before they realise something's wrong." The soldier got into the lift with them and twisted a small silver key into the slot under the buttons. Ramona looks at him and does a worried double take.

"Twenty-" The lift starts, violently shoots down, causing Sherlock to rock slightly and put a steadying hand on her, as she stumbled back unprofessionally.

It stops at the bottom suddenly, and Ramona thinks she might actually be sick.

As they step out a young corporal come to face them. Behind him are a lot of soldiers, all armed, some with big German Shepard's loyally at their side. Ramona estimated they were way below anything in the city. Looking around, it suddenly hit her that they were using all of the buildings, on the block, if not the whole street.

"What is it? Are we in trouble?"

"Are we in trouble, Sir." Sherlock says sternly. Ramona's eyes widen and she tries to look unphased, not sure whether to laugh or start flirting with him.

"Yes sir, sorry sir."

"Your ID showed up straight away, Mr Holmes. Corporal Lyons, security. Is there something wrong, sir?"

"Well, I hope not, Corporal. I hope not." Sherlock says.

"It's just, we don't get inspected here, you see, sir. It just doesn't happen."

"Ever heard of a spot check?" She pulls out a small notepad and clicks her pen, Sherlock fights a smile.

"And if you don't mind me asking, who are you?" Ramona takes a small ID out of her jacket pocket.

"Mr Holmes' personal assistant." Sherlock raises an eyebrow as he see's it is the actual personal assistant, Anthea's ID, with her face instead of the original. However, he quickly masks his astonishment,

"Ma'am. Major Barrymore won't be pleased, Ma'am. He'll want to see you both."

"I'm afraid we don't have time for that." She replied, looking impatient, whilst corporal Lyons looked hesitant. "That's an order, corporal." She says instantly.

"Yes, Ma'am." He spins around and leads them straight ahead to yet another lift. Sherlock glances around at Ramona with a proud smile. as he talks to her quietly.

"Nice touch. How'd you get that?"

"People are surprisingly easy to pickpocket when they're on their phones." He smiles.

Lyons presses a button in the lift and the doors close around them, opening shortly afterwards three floors down. Lyons leads them out into a brightly lit and white tiled laboratory. As they walk forward, various scientific staff dressed either in white coveralls including full breathing masks, or in lab coats and face masks walk around the lab. There are large cages to the right of the elevator and as Lyons leads the way past them, a monkey screams and hurls itself at the bars towards them. Sherlock spins on his heel as he passes the cage, looking at the monkey and the chain around its neck.

"How many animals do you keep down here?"

"Lots, sir." Ramona grimaced at the spectacle. No animal should live like this.

At the far end of the lab, a scientist wearing coveralls and a breathing mask comes out of another room and takes his mask off. Another scientist walks across the lab with a beagle on a lead.

"Any ever escape?"

"They'd have to know how to use that lift, sir. We're not breeding them that clever."

"Unless they have help." Sherlock and Ramona exchange a look. The man who just took his mask off comes over to the group.

"Ah, and you are?"

"Sorry, Doctor Frankland. I'm just showing these people around."

"Ah, new faces, huh? Nice. Careful you don't get stuck here, though. I only came to fix a tap!" Ramona grins politely and turns to Lyons as the doctor Frankland walks away.

"How far down does that lift go?"

"Quite a way, ma'am."

"Mmm-hmm. And what's down there?"

"Well, we have to keep the bins somewhere, ma'am. This way please." Sherlock is watching Frankland as he reaches the elevator. Frankland in turn looks around to gaze with interest at the new arrivals. While Lyons leads Ramona away, Sherlock walks backwards for a couple of paces before turning to follow.

"So what exactly is it that you do here?"

"I thought you'd know, sir, this being an inspection."

Sherlock is looking at the various scientists around the room, a couple looking at a rat in a glass cage, another one doing something to the leg of a monkey on a leash which is sitting on a metal table. Nearby, another scientist picks up what looks ominously like a glass container of serum.

"Well, I'm not an expert, am I?"

"Everything from stem cell research to trying to cure the common cold, ma'am."

"But mostly weaponry?"

"Of one sort or another, yes." He swipes his card through the reader of the door at the end of the lab, then steps aside for Sherlock to do likewise.

"Biological, chemical...?"

"One war ends, another begins, ma'am. New enemies to fight. We have to be prepared."

Lyons leads them through the doors and into another lab where a monkey stands up on its back legs with one hand high in the air and shrieks before sitting down again on a high metal table. A female scientist looks at it and then turns to her colleague.

"Okay, Michael, let's try Harlow Three next time." She says. As she walks away from the table, Lyons approaches her.

"Doctor Stapleton."

"Stapleton." Sherlock murmured thoughtfully.

"Yes?" She looks at them. "Who's this?"

"Priority Ultra, ma'am. Orders from on high. An inspection."

"Really?"

"We're to be accorded every courtesy, Doctor Stapleton. What's your role at Baskerville?" Stapleton looks at him and snorts with disbelieving laughter.

"Accorded every courtesy, isn't that the idea?" Says Ramona.

"I'm not free to say. Official secrets." Ramona smiles sweetly.

"Oh, you most certainly are free..." Her smile fades and her voice becomes ominous. "And I suggest you remain that way." Doctor Stapleton swallows and looks at her for a moment.

"I have a lot of fingers in a lot of pies. I like to mix things up – genes, mostly; now and again actual fingers." Sherlock has had a light bulb moment when she said the words 'genes' and is reaching into his pocket before she finishes the sentence.

"Stapleton. I knew I knew your name."

"I doubt it."

"People say there's no such thing as coincidence. What dull lives they must lead." He holds up his notebook to her on which he has written a single large word: Bluebell.. She stares at it in amazement while Sherlock watches her face closely.

"Have you been talking to my daughter?" Sherlock is putting his notebook away.

"Why did Bluebell have to die, Doctor Stapleton?"

"What?" Ramona interjected, to be ignored.

"Disappeared from inside a locked hutch, which was always suggestive. Clearly an inside job."

"Oh, you reckon?"

"Why? Because it glowed in the dark." He clicks the 'K' on the last word loudly.

"I have absolutely no idea what you're talking about. Who are you?" Ramona has been keeping a mental note on the time, and so has Sherlock as they both look at each other simultaneously.

"Well, I think we've seen enough for now, Corporal. Thank you so much."

"That's it?"

"That's it." He turns and heads briskly back towards the door, Ramona following behind and Lyons trailing after them. "It's this way, isn't it?" She catches up to his friend and speaks quietly so that Lyons can't overhear her.

"Did we just break into a military base to investigate a rabbit?"

Sherlock reaches the door and swipes his card, then waits for Lyons to catch up to them and do the same with his own card. Sherlock walks swiftly through the security doors and heads for the lift as his phone trills a text alert. He takes out his phone without stopping and reads the message:

What are you doing?

M

He laughs sarcastically.

"Twenty-three minutes. Mycroft's getting slow."

Reaching the lift doors, he swipes his card and Lyons does likewise. The doors open revealing Doctor Frankland standing inside as if he has been waiting in there. Trying to look nonchalant, he smiles at them.

"Hello ... again."

Narrowing his eyes suspiciously, Sherlock walks into the lift with the others. Very shortly afterwards, one floor up, the doors open again and reveal a bearded man in military uniform waiting for them. He does not look happy.

"Er, um, Major..."

"This is bloody outrageous. Why wasn't I told?"

"Major Barrymore, is it?" She steps out of the lift towards him. "Very good. We're very impressed, aren't we, Mr Holmes?" Sherlock's phone sounds another text alert and he reaches into his pocket for it again.

"Deeply; hugely." He walks past Barrymore as he looks at his text message.

What's going on Sherlock?

M

The major follows along behind them while Sherlock hurries towards the exit door.

"The whole point of Baskerville was to eliminate this kind of bureaucratic nonsense..."

"I'm so sorry, Major." Sherlock says.

"Inspections?!"

"New policy. Can't remain un-monitored forever. Goodness knows what you'd get up to."

"Sir!" Lyons cries. He slaps an alarm button on the wall. Alarms start to blare, red lights flash and the automated security door locks itself. The others turn back to him.

"ID unauthorised, sir."

"What?"

"I've just had the call."

"Is that right?"

"Who are you?"

"Look, there's obviously been some kind of mistake." A little further back, Frankland is slowly walking towards the group, looking thoughtful. Barrymore holds out his hand for Sherlock's ID card, which he gives to him. He looks at the card and then up at Sherlock.

"Clearly not Mycroft Holmes." Ramona's heart is starting to beat a little faster, the thought of millitary prison not too appealing.

"Computer error, Major. It'll all have to go in the report." She clicks her pen.

"What the hell's going on?!"

"It's all right, Major. I know exactly who these people are."

"You do?"

"Yeah. I'm getting a little slow on faces but Mr Holmes here isn't someone I expected to show up in this place."

"Ah, well..." Sherlock begins, as Dr Frankland outstretches a hand for him to shake.

"Good to see you again, Mycroft." Ramona masks her surprise. Smiling falsely, Sherlock shakes Frankland's hand.

"I had the honour of meeting Mr Holmes at the W.H.O. conference in... Brussels, was it?"

"Vienna."

"Vienna, that's it." He looks at Barrymore.

"This is Mr Mycroft Holmes, Major. There's obviously been a mistake." Barrymore turns and nods to Lyons, who goes back to the alarm switch and turns it off. The lights stop flashing and the alarm falls silent. A moment later the entrance door's lock disengages noisily.

" On your head be it, Doctor Frankland."

"I'll show them out, Corporal."

"Very well, sir." Sherlock and Ramona spin on their heels and walk towards the now open entrance doors. Frankland follow him while Barrymore glares after them unhappily.

"Thank you."

"So, what are the two greatest detectives in a secret military base?" They both turn to him, eyes wide. "Oh, don't worry. I know who you really are. I'm never off your website. Thought you'd be wearing the hat, though."

"That wasn't my hat."

"I hardly recognise him without the hat!" Frankland said to her as she smiled.

"It wasn't my hat." Ramona bites back a laugh.

"Listen, I can't really talk now."

Frankland takes a card from his coat pocket and hands it over.

"Here's my, er, cell number."

"I never did ask, Doctor Frankland. What exactly is it that you do here?"

"Oh, Mr Holmes, I would love to tell you – but then, of course, I'd have to kill you!" HE laughs cheerfully.

"That would be tremendously ambitious of you." Ramona comments, straight faced. "Tell us about Doctor Stapleton."

"Never speak ill of a colleague."

"Yet you'd speak well of one, which you're clearly omitting to do."

"I do seem to be, don't I? He shrugs.

"I'll be in touch."

"Any time." The detectives walk down the hall and out of the doors, home free. Ramona resists the urge to try and high five Sherlock's leather cladded hand as he stuffs them in his pockets.

"We're going to have to walk around for a bit so they don't see us walk across the street." Ramona comments.

"Mm." He hums in agreement. "Are you hungry?" She shrugs, and then juts her bottom lip out.

"I could eat."

"Good. I know an Italian restaurant ten minutes away."

"What'd you do, Get the owner off a murder charge?" Sherlock smiles and shakes his head. "Help him put up some shelves?" He lets out a laugh.

"No. I just want to take you there." Something definitely blew up in Ramona's chest when she processed this sentence and grinned like an idiot.

* * *

**Sorry for the slow update! I broke my laptop that literally EVERYTHING was on, so I had to get it fixed which sucks :(**

**Thanks so much for reading/reviewing!**


	24. Shoot The Runner

**Shoot The Runner **

* * *

"Someones gone missing at the school." Ramona stated as she put her phone into her coat pocket. Sherlock frowned.

"So?"

"A security guard. Apparently the CCTV showed him going down into the basement, and never coming back out again." His eyes were practically burning with curiosity. "Y'know, it's funny, the hotel and the school are the oldest buildings in the city." She blinked and then looked to him. "You don't think they could be..."

"Connected by some sort of out dated sewerage system?"

"That would make sense." She said. "It'd probably then be able to get into the countryside as well."

"But you don't honestly think there's some sort of monster Jaguar thing roaming the city, do you?"

"I've ruled out the impossible, Sherlock, but that, that isn't that."

She stood outside the school gates, wearing a tan trench coat. Red and blue tape could be seen, and she searched for Hannah, spotting her talking to a policeman. Hannah spotted Ramona, and happily waved for them to come over.

"This is the detective I was talking about." Hannah declares to the officer cheerfully.

"Sally, I've heard a lot about you." He addresses Ramona. _Sally? _She glanced momentarily to Hannah. She smiled normally, yet her eyes glinted.

"Oh no!" Ramona exclaimed with a raised eyebrow and a smile, to hint at being playful. Sherlock couldn't help but smirk, and wonder why she didn't simply become an actress. She pulled out an ID, which was in fact Sally Donovan's, apart from the photo.

"Always nice to see a northern lass come back home." The police officer chatted happily, as if this wasn't the scene of potentially one of the most interesting cases this city had ever faced.

"Hey, you wouldn't mind keeping this off the record, taking the credit for yourself? It's just it's supposed to be our week off." The officer made a thoughtful face before smiling.

"Ah, confessions of a workaholic." He winked and pulled up the blue tape, allowing them to duck under and enter.

"You're going to have to get me one of those ID's." Sherlock stated under his breath. She smiled.

"You'd be surprised what you can do with a laminator nowadays."

"I don't get it." She looked around the dingy room, lit up by harsh white light. "There's one way in, one out. No pipe openings large enough for anyone six foot." She started to pace. "I... Don't understand." Confusion floods everything she knows, and nothing makes sense anymore. The police had left for half an hour to 'secure the crime scene' or whatever excuse they had made up to go have tea and a biscuit. "How do I not understand? I don't understand how I don't understand. There's nothing here to even understand for god's sake!"

"Shut up, you're being annoying." Sherlock was pointing a torch in an opposite corner of the large basement, looking up slightly.

"I didn't realise I was interrupting your pretending to think and understand some point of this!" His face dropped in embarrassment, even though he was turned away he felt his face turn red. "You shouldn't pretend to be cleverer than me, it gets us nowhere."

"You're right."

"I just- wait, what?"

"What?" He tried to sound uninterested and preoccupied, but he realised his mistake.

"Did you just... Did the great detective just say I was right?"

"Shut up before I take it back." He snapped.

"It's going to be embarrassing when we have to go and face them with nothing." She kicked the wall hard in boredom and a loose brick bell onto her ankle. She cried out in shock and pain, hopping once or twice and holding her foot up. Sherlock was already beside her.

"Are you alright?"

"Yeah." They turned to look at the wall, a portion of which was made up of loose bricks.

She removed five bricks from the top row, slowly stripping them away. That was, until, she caught a glimpse of what lay on the other side. Ramona recoiled in horror, hand instinctively to her nose. Sherlock peered over to see what had caused the reaction, to see the guard- or his body- sat tucked in a corner, knees to his chest.

"Well, we can see that he died from lack of oxygen, at least."

"It looks as if he blockaded himself away from something in an attempt to hide."

"You don't think-"

"We shouldn't jump to conclusions, this case is likely isolated, and not attached to the feline." Sherlock, the unlikely voice of reason.

"You said it." She looked pained. "Feline." Ramona looked around the main entrance to the school, reporters and camera crews only a few metres away, outside the gates. "C'mon, let's go out the back way."

Sherlock's eyes widened in slight awe as they walked past and around the building they had just been in. The city was in a slight valley, but from the hill the school was situated on at the edge of the metropolis, he could see everything. The school itself may be Victorian and the buildings appear slightly run down, but the view was magnificent. The city was not quite yet in darkness, the last few minutes of golden sunshine fading, it was balancing precariously between day and night. There were a few cherry blossoms planted around the school, and as it was spring, the petals drifted in the air. Ramona must also have been effected by this, as she also stopped. Something about the situation felt breathtaking, and they both weren't sure what. She checked her watch.

"Hey, watch this." He frowned and turned to her. "Not me, the city." He frowned harder but did as he was told. What was he supposed to be looking for? "Six, five, four, three, two,one." Suddenly, all the street lamps turned on, one by one, like dominoes. The different reds, blues and glass of the city all fell into an orange hue. His lips parted involuntarily. He was speechless, and he didn't know why. He turned to her, watching as she smiled gently at the view, not aware of his eyes and how they were always on her. Always. How could they be anywhere else? Small, pink petals rested on her hair, somehow amplifying her already electric attraction. And then he felt a hard pang of sadness in his chest. not just his chest, the place his heart was supposed to be. What was this sensation that he was feeling? It felt so empty and heavy, but at the same time it was full to bursting, and as light as a feather. What was happening to him? A laugh brought him out of his daze.

"That's always so cool, don't you think?"

"It's an alright party trick." He desperately tried to ignore his irregular heartbeat.

"So, what did you come to us for?" Ramona sat with one leg over the other in a chair in the hotel room, notebook and pen in hand, watching the frantic woman who seemed to be shaking all the time. When she didn't respond, Ramona saw Sherlock roll his eyes out of the corner of her eye. She shot him a dirty look and he almost jumped. "Henrietta?"

"I was just a kid. It-it was on the top floor." She said quietly, staring into the bottom of her mug that shook ever so slightly. She had wild frizzy brown hair and a structured, sharp face with almond eyes, and a petite figure, an inch shorter than Ramona. "It was dark, but I know what I saw. I know what killed my father." She took out a tissue and blew her nose. Judging from the dark circles under and accentuating her eyes her cold that sounded like it wouldn't go away, Ramona came to the conclusion that she was frail and likely to fall victim to illness in all months apart from summer. Was she frail of mind as well?

"Take your time, love." Ramona smiled comfortingly.

"Do you know any ancient languages, Mr Holmes?" The detectives both raised an eyebrow at the off topic question and Ramona turned to Sherlock to see how he was going to answer.

"Sorry?" Sherlock was surprisingly caught off guard.

"Dewer." Her eye's looked far away as she said it, as if not really her own words. "An ancient name for the devil." She was looking straight through Sherlock, and Ramona knew she wasn't really in the hotel room anymore. Henrietta began to shake violently and her eyes widened.

"Yes, good. Skipping to the night that your dad was violently kil-" He stopped dead in his tracks as Ramona got up and took the mug out of the womans hands before she had the chance to drop it. She smiled warmly at her and she started to calm down again. The detective sat back down again.

"You don't have to go into much detail. We just need a rough outline of what happened, and why you've come to us." She nodded meekly in response.

"Did you see the devil that night?" Sherlock asked. Henrietta nods, brow creased.

"Yes." She whispered.

"It was huge. Coal-black fur, with red eyes. It got him, tore at him, tore him apart." They watch her face intensely.

"I can't remember anything else. They found me the next morning, just wandering around. My dad's body was never found."

"So, a wild dog? And you just... Exaggerated it's features?" Ramona muses, tapping the top of her pen against her teeth.

"Or a genetic experiment." The atmosphere fell to a heavy level.

"My dad was always going on about the things they were doing at Baskerville; about the type of monsters they were breeding there. People used to laugh at him. But you... You're not laughing."

"So, it was your therapist that said you should come back here?" Sherlock said.

"How did you... Know that?" He smiles in delight at the chance to show off.

"Oh god,how did it get to this?" Ramona whined,as she hung onto a small strip of steel with her fingertips for her life. She had a torch between her teeth and can feel her blood draining from her arms. It was at this moment she heard the lift start to move upwards towards her. She sighed in relief and counted down from three, before springing herself up and grabbing hold of the steel cord currently moving upwards. For a moment her hands slid on the thick metal but she steadied herself and finally managed to jump up to the the top floor. She pried the steel sliding doors open and then managed to get a crowbar in, giving a final large push to force them open. As soon as she let the doors slide shut with a thud of finality, she knew she had made a grave mistake. The atmosphere had changed completely, and she no longer felt like she was on earth. She could have been on the dark side of the moon and it would have made no difference. The air felt cold and stale around her and the darkness was almost tangible around her, until she quickly turned on her torch.

Something rustled in front of her. She twisted around quickly and saw nothing. Ramona wiped her sweaty palms on the sides of her jeans, and turned back around to the electronic box which was the only way to call the elevator to the top floor. for a second she hesitated, and then reattached a wire which had been ripped out of its socket, and presses the button to call the lift.

* * *

**Im so sorry for the long wait! **

**As you can probably tell I've been suffering from the worst case of writers block ever to exist **

**I think this is because even though I know what to write im not sure which is the best way :/ **

**So to combat this, I've been thinking about writing a high school AU for the two? **

**What would you lot think about this? I've already got a first chapter all but uploaded, so surely I might as well?**

**Let me know your thoughts! Thank you so much for reading :3**


	25. Fallout

**Fallout**

* * *

Somehow, the searching of the top floor had left them to split up into two groups, which consisted of Ramona in one, and Sherlock and Henrietta in another. Ramona hadn't the slightest clue as to how she had actually managed to get her way with the stubborn detective, but it had happened.

She had promised him to not wander too far into the dark rooms, that almost felt like a maze, but she was now lost, deep inside it's walls. If anything was going to attack her, this would probably be the best time to do so.

Ramona felt something she couldn't quite put into words. It was the elephantine feeling of fear that hung over ever thought she was having, every noise she heard, and everything she managed to make out in the inky midnight of somewhere that looked too dilapidated to ever have been built by humans in the first place.

She heard something that like a metallic thrumming from behind her, and she quickly turned around, with damp palms clinging onto a torch, which desperately tried to find the source of the noise, walking backwards. She saw a glimpse of a rat's tail scuttle away from the harsh light of the torch, and she let out a sigh of relief, before bumping into something that felt like a brick wall. She leaned back fully, and looked up, only to find the brick wall had dashing cheekbones.

Ramona let out a cry of surprise and felt her heart miss a beat as she jumped away from the detective, who had a look of malice on his face.

"I told you not to go too far." The white of his teeth flashed menacingly in the dark, and Ramona felt like a child about to get a scolding.

"What're you doing here then?" She remarked casually, shining the light in his face. He scowled and pushed the torch to point somewhere else.

"Haven't had any luck, then?"

"I wouldn't call finding a murderous beast luck, but no." She sighed. Was this a dead end? Was this woman really a lunatic? Did she actually believe her story? Had she in the first place, or did she just because it was the only lead they could come up with? She scolded herself internally, for bad detective skills.

"Maybe we should get going." A small voice from behind Sherlock. The detectives nod reluctantly, and follow her back.

Suddenly, something that sounds like a roar could be heard, which although is probably far away, ripples through the thick silence. Ramona's eyes widen and she turns on her heels, and begins sprinting through the unknown, towards the source of the sound, disappearing into the murkiness.

"Ramona!" Another agitated roar from behind her, this time the source being Sherlock. She ignores him and carries on running.

Out of breath, the woman realises she has no clue where she is, and almost laughs when she realises she's grinning from the thrill of danger. Ramona shines her torch up a flight of stairs in the direction of the sound, and her face begins to fill with horror at the sight which makes her feel physically ill. Whatever it is growls viciously from the top of the stairs. She tries to take a step forward, but at the torch flickers momentarily, and when it comes back on, the whatever-it-is has already retreated. Ramona feels a worse fear than when she was in it's presence. Now that she couldn't see it, she couldn't fight it.

"Ramona!" Sherlock's slightly out of breath, after sprinting behind her. "What do you think you're doing?" She didn't respond, just kept looking where the creature had been. "Ramona?" She turns and begins to walk away. "What's-"

* * *

Sherlock looked back at Ramona. She hadn't said a word since they had left that floor and Henrietta had gone home. What had happened? She sat on a seat at a round table on the balcony, watching the city below, and the clear night sky. He could see from inside that she was visibly shaking.

"Here." He handed her a knitted jumper that she had brought with her. She looked at the white and black colours which blended to make grey, took it from him, and put it in her lap, without a single change that could be noted in her expression. Something was deeply wrong. He had never seen her in such a state. She unlocked her phone and checked the time, before putting it back on the table. He frowned with concern at her still shaking form. "What's-"

"Nothing." A dead tone. His eyes widened, and he sat in the seat opposite her.

"It's obviously not-"

"Well it is, so just leave it!" Her voice harshly cut him off yet again, making him angry. Why was he even bothering?

"Stop cutting me off." She crossed her arms and looked away, obviously trying to make it look like she was angry. "Just tell me what happened."

"Fine." He raised his eyebrows, surprised he had managed to get it out of her. Ramona crossed her legs, and swung the legs slightly but restlessly, in an attempt to conceal how hard she was shaking.

"Maybe you should go in-"

"I saw it." She said quietly, but with a lot of conviction.

"What?" He asked in disbelief.

"I said; I saw it." She spat, her eyes meeting his, with such a fire in them, it made him flinch.

"You saw..." He leaned in, elbows and forearms on the table. "The feline?" She nodded quickly, looking away. He let out an uncharacteristically nervous laugh. Wasn't she supposed to be logical? "Look, you've had a long day. It was just your mind's just playing tricks on you." Her head snapped to him at that deduction, and glared at him yet again.

"I know what I saw." Another sentence spat like a curse.

"It was extremely dark, and fear makes humans paranoid, it's simple science-"

"Stop treating me like a child!" She stands up powerfully, her chair clattering to the floor behind her. "You weren't there!" He stood up, starting to get agitated.

"I'm trying to make you see reason! It's obvious that your emotions have gotten to you, look at you!" He gestures to her trembling body. She takes a few breaths to try and stop panicking.

"Emotions _don't _get to me!" Sherlock is about to retort, however notices what bad shape she's in. She looks scared out of her wits, her voice the same as before she started to break down at his grave.

"Ramona." He caught her eyes with his, trying to calm her.

"There's-"

"Ra-"

"_There's nothing wrong with me!" _She shouts furiously. His eyes widen and he steps back. Although anger had been one of the most common emotions for her, none of it was anything compared to what he had just witnessed. He heard a certain familiarity in her voice and the look in her eyes, and it scared him. She noticed his reaction. "_Alright?!" _He had never heard her shout like that before. He realised he had heard it somewhere before. But where?

"Just listen to me-" His voice was quieter, half of it choked in shock.

"_No!_" Another one of those venomous shouts. He didn't know this Ramona, not this wild woman that stood before him, with fire in her eyes, menace now laced into every syllable of her speech. This woman stood in front of Sherlock... frightened him. He shook his head slightly, and proceeded to walk out of the room. The door closed gently, and her breathing began to grow to immeasurable proportions, until she couldn't keep up with it. She crouched down, trying to recover from the panic attack.

Ramona had never been that angry in her life. She had never heard herself shout like that, either. She screwed her eyes shut. was their something wrong with her, to be able to shout like that, to see red as much as she just had, and to direct it at Sherlock, of all people? His reaction was a first for her as well. He hadn't confronted her, hadn't retorted something clever or gotten angry. He had just left, and even the door was closed softly, as if he didn't accept what had just happened.

Sherlock left the hotel, crossed the road, and walked away from the building, feeling numb. He needed to remember what he linked that anger to. It could explain a lot of things, or nothing, but he had a feeling it was extremely important. Not for the case, which was admittedly pushed to the back of his mind now that this had arisen so unexpectedly.

Ramona watched him take off down the street, and suddenly had an urge to follow him. She wasn't sure what she would do when she caught up with him, but her rage and confusion subsided quickly as she pulled on her leather jacket and a pair of trainers.

By the time she was out on the street, he had disappeared. Strangely, she felt panic rising like bile in her throat. The night air was completely free of even the lightest breeze, but was still biting cold. She took off in the direction he had been walking.

* * *

After half an hour of searching, she reached the last place he could of been. It was edging on the outskirts of the lively city, and was quiet, as if in the middle of nowhere. She begged herself to stay away, but she couldn't go back without him. She walked inside the old, always open graveyard gates.

After three minutes, she spotted a tall figure, facing away from her, and she knew instantly it was him. She approached him in between the wide row of relatively new gravestones and stood right behind him, facing his back. The detective turned around to face her, his handsome features almost invisible in the complete darkness that her her eyes hadn't quite adjusted to yet.

"Why are you here?" He said in a quiet voice. For some reason, when she spoke, she still sounded angry.

**Sherlock**

"To bring you back. You don't know this city, and it's dangerous. Follow me." She turned around, and then, laying eyes on what was in front of her, turned straight back around, into Sherlock's chest. He frowned and looked down at her, before turning his gaze to what had spooked her.

**In loving memory of Ivan Baxter, whom was untimely stolen away from us **

_Stolen away? _Sherlock looked down at the woman who he had subconsciously put his arms around. She was shuddering slightly, and although he could hear nothing from her, he could tell she was choked on shocked tears she was violently suppressing. He could picture her teeth gritted together, and almost jumped as he felt his shirt being gripped onto tightly, as if she was angry. _Could this be-_

"Excuse me?" A deep man's voice in the darkness. Sherlock felt the shuddering stop, and her arms drop to her sides limply. The detective turned to his left, and saw that the man was crouching down, and laying flowers at the grave. He then stood back up to face Sherlock. His features were prominent in even this lighting. His light chocolate hair was messy, and hung in his eyes, one lock, slightly longer than the others, traced down to the middle of his straight nose, and then split into two thick ends, going off in two different directions. He was dressed in all black, a slightly over-sized plain leather jacket, black skinny jeans, and a black crew top, but with surprisingly smart looking shoes. He looked a couple of years older than Ramona. "Did you know this person?" He gestured to the grave Sherlock had just read. The detective was unsure of what to say.

Without warning, he felt a fingertip on his on his back, tracing down his spine. Sherlock gritted his teeth, and internally wrestled the need to shudder, and god knew what else. What was she doing?

Then it came to him. She was tracing letters on his back, so that he could communicate with the man. There was a Y, then an E, and then an S traced. Sherlock nods.

"Yes." The man looked surprised.

"Who are you?" Sherlock was yet again lost for words. "I'm sorry, but there aren't a lot of people who knew him." He wasn't going to be able to get out of this, and he was counting on Ramona. But at the same time, there must of been a good reason for her burying her face into his black skirt, and managing to hide herself completely in his large coat. What should he do?

However, the girl didn't let him decide. She slowly let go of him, and stepped away, facing the man. His mouth parted, in what seemed like shock. There was a five second silence before anyone spoke.

"Coralie." He finally spoke, however incredulously. Sherlock frowned. Why was he using her middle name?

"Kain." So that was his name. He observed her expression of utter blankness, and how there was nothing in her eyes. He felt he was seeing a completely different side to her tonight, and wasn't sure if he had ever wanted to.

"What're you doing here?" He looked between them, and found they had the exact same expression. He then realised their stances were the same, however Ramona seemed to look more standoffish, as if about to defend against a vicious attack. She shrugged.

"To be frank, I'm not sure." They stared at each other for a five seconds that seemed an eternity, a heavy tension radiating from each of their bodies. He was afraid for a moment that a fight may actually break out. However, perhaps it could be a different type of tension, and he was only sensing it because he didn't know the circumstances behind it. Kain let out an exasperated sigh.

"Well, that's certainly enlightening." The mans eyes didn't leave hers as he gestured to Sherlock, as if a ghost of the graveyard. "Who's this?" He said harshly.

"A friend." She said, a frost he had never hear before. However, it didn't affect the man.

"Ah, you haven't changed."

"I could say the same."

"Who is he really?" There's a silence before she answers.

"A brother in law." Internally, Sherlock felt like screaming. Kain turns to Sherlock, raises an eyebrow and looks him up and down. Sherlock frowned, returning the hidden venom in the mans tone with his now icy eyes. The mysterious man then turns back to Ramona.

"So you're not romantically involved?"

"Of course not." Sherlock almost flinched, as there was no hesitation in between the query and reply.

"Good." Sherlock's eyes nearly bulged out of his head. What was this shifty man trying to say exactly?

"Don't say things like that, your casual tone disgusts me." She crossed her arms, a defensive display of body language. He laughed. At this point, Sherlock felt completely cut off from what was happening, an inanimate object that neither of them acknowledged.

"You really haven't changed one bit." From where did he know Ramona, and what did he want with her? "But you love it when I say things like that, don't you?" Sherlock almost attacked him right there, but supposed Ramona would get there first.

"Loved. Tenses are _very_ important." His mouth parted, as the man took a step closer.

"Don't tell me you're still bitter." She took a step back.

"Don't tell me you're still the vulgar, cocky, self absorbed lech that you were." He laughed, and took a step forward, as she took another back.

"Oh, I love it when you talk dirty." Sherlock suddenly felt as if he shouldn't be watching, as he saw her small hands ball into fists at her sides.

"What do you want, Kain?" It was the first time he had seen Ramona beaten to refer to the seriousness of the situation, as if beaten in an argument. Actually, this was the first time he had seen her lose an argument. Who was this man, and what was his hold over her? The detective decided he would let it play out, but any sign of things getting too off course, and he would beat the man to a pulp. After all, it wasn't as if he'd have to travel far to bury him. He agreed internally with himself, and started to plan out the quickest way to brutally murder this man, and then effectively dispose of the evidence.

"You." Kain said nonchalantly, putting his hands into his jacket pockets. "When your dressed how you know I like, it makes me want you." His tone was as if chatting about the weather. Then, his tone changed. "A lot." Her eyes widened and almost showed emotion, but quickly brought back down the invisible barrier she had put up between her and this man.

"Sweet talk doesn't work anymore, in case you haven't noticed, I'm not a girl you can take advantage of anymore." _Anymore? Did that mean she had once been that girl? _

"Mm, I've noticed." Kain towers over Ramona's frame at six foot, the same size as Sherlock, however, he looked more built, and Sherlock calculated that if it came to a brawl, depending on how smart the man was, he had roughly 45% of winning, if it came down to using brute force. Almost a fifty fifty, but it still made Sherlock feel uneasy. Kain leans in. "And I've decided I like this Coralie a lot more." Her gaze was fierce.

"I'm not a challenge, I'm not even in your range. Basically..." Sherlock was excited that she may actually hit this man. "_I'm out of your league!" _Although the shout was quieter than before on the balcony, in fact almost a hiss, it still struck an embarrassing amount of fear into Sherlock. Where had he heard it before?

"I beg to differ," He smirked, unphased by the obviously terrifying new voice Ramona had found. Or had she always had it? "If I wanted to, and I do, I'm sure I could have you screaming my name again in less than a month." Sherlock's jaw dropped. _Again? Was this man... Did he... Did they-_

And then, Ramona smirked. She reached out to the man's collar, and slowly pulled it down and towards her, until his face was inches away from hers. The tips of their noses were touching, and Sherlock's heart dropped to his toes.

"The only time I'd ever scream in front of you," Her voice was poisonous. "Was if I was running for my life," Kain grinned as her voice turned to a venomous whisper. "Away from you."

Ramona went to push him away violently, but her hand did nothing, as he grabbed both sides of her jacket, and pulled her towards him. Sherlock went to move to tear them apart, but he was too late. Kain forcefully pulled her even closer, and then kissed her passionately. Sherlock froze with so much anger he was paralysed, as did Ramona, as he saw her go rigid.

**Ramona**

After the rough first half second of the kiss, he turned skillfully gentle, as to coax her to cooperate. She fought with every single particle of her being not to return the kiss. She counted the seconds with wide eyes, as her stomach had not stopped doing flips since she had heard his voice. Ramona found her strength and pushed him away from her, after six point seven extremely long seconds.

She didn't say anything, just stared in complete shell-shock at his infuriatingly attractive face. _Why does this city hate me_? Kain chuckled in triumph. _Scratch that, why does Cupid hate me?_

"You loved it, as I expected." He brushed his hair out of his face with his hand. This was a kind of pushy she had never seen before.

"It was disgusting, as are you." She pointed at him in complete rage. "I never want to see your face again!" Kain, as usual, didn't feel anything at her words, or at least, didn't show it.

"That's what you said last time." She crossed her arms protectively. "Yet here you are, blushing after the most innocent of kisses." Her mouth parted in shock. How did he remember what she had said, after all this time, and anyway, was she blushing?

"It's anger." She said in spite of herself, knowing that quoting back to him would only give him the wrong idea.

"Whatever you say." He turned to walk away, the confidence of a thousand in one man. "It's been a pleasure. I'm moving to London, So I'll see you around." Her mouth was wide open. _What sort of person does that? _

The two were left in silence, as she watched him walk away for a second.

"We're leaving." Sherlock's commanding voice. She turned to storm away, and could feel the satisfied smirk on Kain's stupid face.

They walked back to the hotel in silence.

* * *

"Goodnight, Sherlock." She said, outside his hotel room, as another had freed up.

"Ramona, if you do not come into my room and tell me what the _fuck _just happened, I swear to god I will leave this instant." She flinched at the second time she had heard the consulting detective swear, and yet again, it was directed at her. She thought about the proposition for a second.

"Perhaps you should leave then." His eyes widened as she turned away and took a step away, before grabbing the back of her collar, pulling her back, and guiding her into his room.

"Oh, so now you're bossing me around too?"

"I always boss you around." He said nonchalantly, going to sit on the couch.

"Well yeah, but I never listen."

"Then can you do me a favour, and actually do as I say for once?" There was sadness laced into the anger in his tone. So, for once, she did as she was told, and sat on the chair opposite him, and swung her legs around so that her legs hung over the arm of the chair. "Start from the beginning."

"Well, Doc, it started when I began having nightmares about how I was a snake trapped in a block of ice-"

"Be serious, for once, as well." She glanced his way for a second, sighed, rolled her eyes and started talking. Sherlock hadn't seen this sort of behaviour from her since they first met.

"That grave is of the thug I murdered." She gauged his reaction from the corner of her eyes, which was slight surprise. So he had suspected it. "Kain is..." She struggled for a word. "An old flame, shall we say."

"A flame that obviously isn't out." Ramona gritted her teeth, and then smirked.

"It flickers." She remarked, expecting at least a smile from the detective. All she got was a glare. She raised her eyebrows in a 'calm down' sort of way.

"I'm going to need more information than six words."

"Fine." She snapped. "Kain was my first boyfriend, if you could call it that." Sherlock's eyes widen slightly. "And... " She sighed. "He's the only man I'll ever love." His jaw dropped.

* * *

**Player three has finally joined the game!**

**I just love love rivals, sorry lol**

**It's sort of like she turns back into the person she was at the start, all that character development for nothing, thanks a lot -.-**

**I've already drafted the next chapter, and trust, things start to actually get interesting ;)**

**Thanks for reading as always :)**


	26. Love Is A Laserquest

**Love Is A Laserquest - Arctic Monkeys**

**I don't own anything!**

* * *

"What do you mean, 'the only man you'll ever love'?" His words were quick, and it was honestly the most shock she had ever seen him in.

"I don't understand the question." Sherlock huffed.

"Tell me about you two, and if you don't, I will make you jump off the balcony." Before he realised what he had said, Ramona's furious eyes snapped towards him.

"Is that supposed to be funny, _Detective_?" Ramona asked herself how much more anger could she take before she turned into the hulk. It wasn't a lot.

"Sorry, I didn't mean it like that." He genuinely looked like he was sorry, so she grudgingly obliged.

"Fine, fine, I'll tell you." Her words, and tone, resembled a tired parent begrudgingly agreeing to tell their over-demanding child a bedtime story.

"Go on." He looked alert.

"When I was fifteen, he was eighteen. That was the age we started going out." She sighed, waiting for the inevitable backlash.

"Eight- fifteen?! Ramona, I'm sure you realise this, but in the eyes of the law you were still a minor, and he was taking advantage of you." He was ricidulously vexed at this, and couldn't bear the thought a pure, sweet Mona being taken and ruined by this disgusting piece of filth, and turned into the twisted, troubled Ramona that he knew today.

"Alright, PC Plod, I realise that it's what everyone thinks at first, but it was only a three year gap, and I was 'an impressionable young girl with no father figure'." She makes sarcastic air speech marks with her fingers, and get up from her seat, walking across the room to the mini fridge, and grabbing two bottles, one of coke, and one of vodka. She also got out a short glass with a deceivingly large diameter, and then turned around, whilst still crouching.

"Want anything?" He looked disapproving. "Don't worry, I'm not a minor now." He sighed, and let his head loll back to rest on the couch back, displaying his pale neck.

" 'Things couldn't get much worse, so why not add alcohol?' " He said, imitating her sarcastically. "I hate your northern way of thinking." She laughed, despite herself.

"That's the motto!" She took out another glass, and another bottle of vodka, intending to get at least a bit tipsy. "I'm taking that as a yes." If this was any other situation, he may of cracked a smile at her remark, but she was too worried about her.

Ramona set down the two identical glasses and the bottles on the glass coffee table inbetween them, and looked up at him.

"What'll it be?" She said, although she knew what he was going to say, judging from the sigh that he gave out, one of complete exasperation.

"Just vodka." She smirked, as her guess had been right on the money. She then decided to abandon the normal glasses and the bottle of coke she had gotten, and just go straight to shot glasses. She filled them, and they both took a shot.

Sherlock made a face of complete disgust, and Ramona laughed.

"Breathing makes it even worse." He remarked, and then looked to her, who was only slightly phased by it. "I've decided you drink too much."

"I decided that a long time ago." She laughed, but he still wouldn't loosen up.

"Don't change the topic. I want the story." She sighed, bring her heightening spirits back down.

"I don't know if you can tell, but I have trouble talking about it without getting-" His stare was pitiful, and it made her stop in her tracks. She neither needed nor wanted sympathy from him. In fact, what was it she wanted from him? "Two more each, and then I'll start." She knew for a fact that he was a lightweight, and she wanted to make sure he didn't remember the story.

"I know what you're trying to do, but I'm going to do it anyway, because if I don't, I think I might go mad."

"Again?" She smirked at her own muttered joke, but filled the glasses twice again. By now, she thought that they were both a little tipsy, but still serious.

"From the beginning." She nodded, and swung her legs around into her old position, legs dangling over the arm of the chair. By this time, they had ditched the glasses, and had started drinking straight from a bottle each.

"Before I met Kain, I was, and I'm not exaggerating, I was an angel." Was she saying she was now a devil? "I went to church every sunday because I _wanted _to, I studied for three hours everyday after school, I never swore, I never broke my curfew, I never challenged anyone, I never did anything illegal, never dressed the way I do now, and I definitely never smoked, got drunk, or did drugs."

"So basically, you were someone I had never met before."

"Ha ha, very funny, Mr Holmes." Sherlock had figured out by now that she only called him that when she was either intoxicated, or in an extremely playful mood.

"How did you meet?" He realised he was starting to sound like a nosy middle aged woman, but it was the intense curiousity she always brought him that made him so pestering.

"It was actually not romantic at all, but I suppose I thought it was right out of a fairy tale." She gave a short, harsh laugh, which was actually just anger at herself.

* * *

Ramona looked around, and kept walking. She honestly didn't know what she was doing in the city centre at a time like this, but she had lost track of everything, and she had gone on autopilot, her concentration on her own thoughts. She checked her small leather strap wristwatch, and saw that the the time was quarter past eleven, on a summers night. Needless to say, her mother wouldn't be home until at least four am on her night shift, and neither would Ciara, as it was apparently 'party season', or whatever she had said. Ramona had no desire whatsoever to go home to an empty house and realise how lonely she actually was, which she had lowkey felt since she could remember. The streets were surprisingly quiet, and there was a large full moon hung in the sky, along with a litter of small stars.

Suddenly, there are running footsteps coming towards her. Ramona stops in fear and braces herself, not sure what was about to come around the corner. She could hear a siren wailing in the distance. Was it a criminal? Should she run?

She had, however, run out of time. One of the most good looking men she had ever seen came sprinting around the corner, dressed in an outfit that definitely pinned him as a troublesome lad, to say the least. He was tall, dark, and handsome, and she thought for a second that it could be fate.

When he saw her, his eyes widened for a second, and he stopped sprinting and came to a halt besides her. He held out a wad of fifty pound notes, and she realised that there was at least three grand in that one bundle. She almost took a step back, but she wasn't afraid. She held out her hand, and he placed the money in it.

"Put this in your bag." He had a deep, slightly out of breath voice. "meet me at 1 am in the riverside trees." He winked, and set off running again. She did as he said, her mouth dry and her heart beating so fast she thought she may be having a heart attack. Ramona watched him turn and sprint up a snicket, hidden from sight, just as two police cars zoomed past her. When they were at a safe distance, Ramona started to laugh, and it was honestly the heartiest laugh she had ever heard from herself, ever.

"I was already hooked, and I didn't even realise it."

"Mm, you sound like you were an idiot." She laughed.

"I was." She pointed at him in agreement. "Definitely."

Ramona stood in her knee length floral summer dress and kitten heels in the lonely, large group of trees where no one ever came, looking around for a sign of her mystery man.

"Hello." A voice from behind her. Her heart skipped a beat, and she span around to look at him. He was taller than she had thought, definitely six foot. He was dressed in all black, but in a fashionable way. Ramona realised she was at a loss for words. The man sat down on a large wooden bench.

"Hello." She finally came out with it. He laughed.

"You look very innocent, and yet you just committed major felony." Her eyes widened. "How do you feel?" She bit her lip, unsure of whether she should tell him the truth. She decided she may as well.

"The most excited I've ever been in my life." She blushed as she heard herself say it. It was honestly one of the most embarrassing things she had ever said. The darkness would have enveloped both of them, if not for the steady, and sometimes flickering, amber glow from the lamp. The criminal threw back his head and laughed. She watched, and decided it was definitely one of the best things she had ever seen.

"That's surprising." He remarked.

"How so?" He raised an eyebrow.

"Well, when you saw me, and when I approached you, you didn't look the least bit scared, as if being asked to meet a shady guy like me was a menial, every day task." She frowned. Now that she thought about it, she had been more entranced than anything else. "Why weren't you scared?" She thought about this.

"Maybe because... you're not scary?" His eyes widened, and at that moment, she realised his eyes were like a tiger's, or a wolf's. They were completely amber, and extremely strange.

"You're not afraid of me?"

"Why would I be?" His mouth parted, and that was the last thing she saw, before she was slightly winded, and lying on the bench, with a man she didn't even know the name of on top of her, a knee either side of her, his left hand pinning her wrist to the wood, the right on the right side of her head.

"Because;" His voice had changed, now animalistic. Ramona realised she had not thought properly about the situation, because she saw him as such a low risk. "I'm a criminal, I'm a man who doesn't care about the law, or any rules. All I care about, is taking what I want." His voice resonated with her, as he lowered himself closer. "Can you guess what I want at this moment?"

"You wouldn't." Her voice was small, but strong.

"Wouldn't I?" His grin revealed perfectly white, straight teeth. As expected from a handsome man, but not from a criminal. "For a seemingly smart girl, you're surprisingly dim when it comes to sexual harassment." Her eyes widen. "You don't even know my name, I could easily get away with it." At this point, it becomes apparent to Ramona that he was bluffing.

"You don't scare me." Her voice was surprisingly convicting. He frowned momentarily, and then smirked.

"Then why is your heart racing?" She blushes and looks away, and decides that she would most probably never see this man again, so she may as well win the argument.

"My body's reacting like that because I'm attracted to you." She would of shrugged if she was stood up. His eyes widen.

"Well you don't beat around the bush, do you?"

"It's just a mix of primal instincts, hormones and chemicals." She looks back up at him. "It's got nothing to do with me." He laughed.

"Tell me, how old are you?" Her face went blank. If he found out, would he get grossed out and leave? She decided to tell the truth, as it would only cause her trouble later.

"Fifteen, sixteen October the twenty fifth of February." Her birthday was only two months away, and sixteen was the legal age, so how could he be shocked? He instantly got off her, but didn't walk away. He helped her sit back up with him. He looked at her with a smile she hadn't seen before.

"Scorpio and Cancer are compatible." It was Ramona's turn to laugh.

"So the fear-worthy criminal is into astrology? And not only that, is also the most sensitive zodiac sign going?" She laughed again, and he almost looked embarrassed, before putting a finger to her lips. She stopped immediately, and her cheeks flushed at the minimal contact. He smirked at this. There were a few seconds of silence.

"Can I ask you something else?" Her heart skipped a beat at this suggestive sentence.

"What is it?"

"Are you a virgin?" He said bluntly, as if asking a stranger the time of day.

"Am I a-" She went a shade of scarlet in the dark. He looked at her expectingly. "What do you think?" She said, half sarcastic, half actually curious.

"I think you're the most interesting, endearing, clever and innocent girl I've ever met, and I think someone very lucky's probably beaten me to it." Her eyes widen to the biggest they had probably ever been.

"Well, you're wrong, actually." She said hesitantly. Would he laugh? Instead, he had a smug smile on his face.

"Well then, do me a favour, and keep it that way until your birthday."

"Why?" The man got up, and so did she. She wanted him to stay more than anything.

"Because I want it." He said nonchalantly.

"You want what?" He turned around and leaned down, his big plain leather jacket hanging down, and he put a gentle hand on the side of the girl's face, and with a smirk, said a sentence that would forever change the course of her destiny.

"I want to be your first." Her mouth parted and she looked down at her side, blushing yet again, and for some reason it didn't irritate him. "Have you even kissed anyone yet?" Her heartbeat was ridiculously fast, and she knew that he must have been able to feel the heat turn up a notch on her face. She didn't have to answer. "In that case, I'll give you something to remember me by." She looked up with wide eyes, and before she could say anything, his lips softly touched hers. She closed her eyes. He put another hand on the small of her back, causing her to step closer to him, and kiss him back. Her body was a mess, limp and numb from the shock and submission, yet electric and the most alive she had ever felt. He made her open her mouth, and before she knew it, the kiss was much more heated. The hand at the small of her back made its was to her waist, and she was becoming more of a mess by the second.

Suddenly, he broke away from the kiss, and took his hands off her. She looked shocked, not at the man, but more at herself. For a starter, she didn't even know his name. She was disgusted with herself, and would definitely be going to church this Sunday.

"For a first kiss, that was..." His voice trailed off, and she looked up, to see that he was blushing ever so slightly. She let out a giggle. His stance changed. "satisfactory."

"You talk like you're the most suave man around, and yet here you are, blushing after the most innocent of kisses." She giggles again, and he raises an eyebrow.

"It's anger." She stopped laughing instantly, and looks up in shock.

"A-anger?" Had she done something wrong? Was he angry at her for being so bad at kissing?

"I'm angry at myself." He said, in the most serious of tone she had heard him speak in that night. "No matter how you act, or what you look like, you're still a minor, and how I feel right now makes me angry, because although I have too much self control for my own good, you make it look as if I'm..." He couldn't even get himself to say it, the shame on his face was apparent.

"Taking advantage?" He nods.

"I'm sorry if I did something you'll come to regret later." He says, his tone almost hollow. How many sides were there to this guy? She shakes her head.

"I don't like being bored." He frowns at her. "My whole life has been boring, up until around quarter past eleven today. If you hadn't of committed that crime, or if I hadn't of been looking for something to interest me, we would never have met." She wasn't quite sure where she going with this. "I was looking for something, and I found it. You were looking for something, and you found it. Do you believe in fate?" She had said a lot of embarrassing things tonight, or this morning, but that was definitely the most cringe-worthy. She thought he might laugh.

"Not until tonight." She was shocked that he said something like that. "I also didn't fully believe in astrology until tonight." He looks around the trees. "Did you know that Scorpios are considered 'old souls', too wise for their own good?" Was he complimenting her? She wasn't quite sure how to respond. He looked up into the sky and sighed. "Meet me here tomorrow night, at eleven pm." She nodded, and he started to walk away. She watched him go, and then realised something.

"Wait!" She cried out, in spite of herself. His broad shoulders stopped, and his head turned to the side. She ran over to him. "You said that you didn't want me to do something I regret later, and I said I wouldn't regret it, but..." He frowned in horror. "I'll regret it hugely, if I have to tell my children that my first kiss was with a complete stranger." He smiled, seemingly relieved.

"Kain, with a K." He said, in a tone that made it not even sound like a name. She paused, and met his eyes.

"Kain, with a K." She said, seeing how the new word felt in her mouth. His eyes widened at the sound of his name coming from her, and then walked away,his hands in his jeans pockets, an indescribable confidence powering his slightly swaggering walk.

* * *

"That sounds literally nothing like you." Sherlock stated, legs spread wide, his arms spread along the back of the sofa back. He was just about half undressed, his shirt undone three extra button, with no suit jacket. He looked strangely powerful in this position.

"I told you, I was literally a different person." He laughed at nothing in particular.

"But, I must admit, that story has me quite angry."

"Angry?"

"Because I..." He meets her eyes with quite a hard intensity for someone who was drunk. "Wanted to be the one to take you." Her big blue eyes got even bigger, and he began guffawing. She looked flustered, especially now that she realised it had been to poke fun at her.

"Shut up, at least I had someone to take me." His laughing stopped, and she knew she had crossed the line.

"I could have had a number of women, all extremely beautiful, by western standards of beauty."

"I can count them on one hand."

"Go on then." She raised an eyebrow.

"Molly, Irene." She looked up at him, and they both begin laughing.

"There were lots at university."

"That's probably because you were the closest thing resembling a man that actually knew what he was doing."

"Or maybe they were just attracted to me." She laughed harshly.

"Did your immediate rejection turn them on? Were they all masochists?" He chuckled.

"No, it's just a fact that I'm attractive." He shrugs. "It's a gift." She stifles a laugh.

"State at least seven things that are attractive about you." He smiles, and then his eyes narrow.

"Or, you could."

"What?!"

"List at least seven things that are attractive about me. If you don't, then you have to sleep in my bed with me tonight." Ramona was greatly taken aback by the drunk detective, that was much more upfront about what he supposedly wanted.

"And what if I refuse?"

"Then I don't let you out of this room for twenty four hours." There was a moment of silence.

"Why are all these penalties so sexual, may I ask?" He laughed.

"I'm just joking. No offence, but if I wanted, I could easily go and steal the much more submissive Miss Hooper away from her apparent fiancee, and get her to do my bidding for the rest of my life, giving her fictional love, just because I could." Her mouth parted in shock.

"I've never heard you say something so evil." She said with a laugh that she knew shouldn't be there. "And by the way, you've already done all that, so check it off your bucket list."

"Come on, seven things." She sighed.

"Fine." His eyes lit up in excitement. She studied him, and there was a long silence.

"If you were in love with me, what would you find most appealing? It's quite simple really." This time, his voice sounded more sad than anything else. More silence. "Can you really not think of anything?" The man said, and although in that confident position, arms spread across the back of the couch, she heard the first thing that could ever be regarded as insecurity in Sherlock's baritone.

"No, I-" _If_ she were in love with him. _If._ "Say hypothetically," She looked into his eyes. "I love you," His eyes widen and he looks away,his face flushes, with a clenched jaw and a furrowed brow. "Then, I suppose that reaction would have made my heart skip a beat." Was that the most embarrassing thing she had ever said? It definitely deserved a spot in the top ten.

"What do you mean?"

"Number one, of the list, would be your surprising innocence, that clashes heavily with your cockiness."

"That's just harsh. Do you really think that just because I've never done _that, _that I'm innocent?"

"It's not a bad thing."

"Yes it is. I don't want you to look at me as if... I'm innocent and not really on the level of other men, just because..."

"Sorry, I didn't realise-"

"So you think that?" He looked more inquisitive than angry, although he was definitely a strange cocktail of both. "You think I'm not on par with the other men in your life?" _Other men? _There was a pause. "Would you rather- rather be with Kain, purely because of that?" _Rather? Why was he talking like we're a couple?_

"You really are a lightweight, aren't you-"

"Answer my question."

"Which one? You've asked quite a lot tonight." She joked. His eyes showed he wouldn't laugh it off. "Well, I suppose... Us two are quite..." She decided to admit something she hadn't even to herself. "Don't let this get to your head, but I look up to you." His face showed complete shock. "You're an amazing detective, and honestly, if I tried it on with you, wouldn't that be completely disrespectful? I'm nowhere near on your level, and moreover-" She began to get flustered. Why did she feel she was reasoning with herself? And then, she looked back at Sherlock, and realised he was stood up, next to the coffee table, trying to unbutton his shirt.

Shocked, she flew up to him, and grabbed his hands.

"What are you doing?!"

"This settles it. From that answer, it's obvious you think he's better than me because of that small detail."

"It settles what exactly?" He looked her straight in the eye, deadly serious.

"The matter of us." He said, as if obvious. "Get on the bed, we're going to have sex." She takes a minute, steps back, and then begins laughing.

"Sherlock, remind me never to ply you with drink again, you get sexual, and it weirds me out." He looks shocked, and even a little hurt.

"I'm being serious." She starts to laugh even harder.

"Yeah okay, and in other news today, you hate smoking, and John is six foot three." She stifled another laugh by pinching her nose, not wanting to anger the already affronted detective. Taking another look, he did look genuinely embarrassed.

"The first time I show a sexual appetite, and I'm rejected." He grabs her arm, and pulls her onto the couch with him, in such a way that she's straddling him, as if doing an Irene Adler impression. Her cheeks flush with embarrassment and she tries to move off him, but he has her wrists in an iron grip. Oh what Irene Adler would have given to switch places with her.

"Sherlock..." She says, with a warning tone. The situation could spiral out of control at any second.

"Tell me." He pulls her wrists closer to him. She looked down at the bottle he had been drinking out of, to see it had been barely touched after the first three shots. Was this really the alcohol talking? "Tell me that you're not attracted to me in any way at all, and I'll let go." Her heart started to pound faster, as she fought with everything she had to not give in.

There was a metaphorical cage around Ramona's metaphorical heart that she had imagined long ago, when she had had her heart broken in the most brutal ways possible. It was made out of the thickest, most un-penetrable metal there was. She had imagined thousands, if not millions of huge padlocks that kept it secure, kept it from beating to the sound of another's heartbeat, kept it from being naive, trusting, and everything that should make a woman susceptible to love. She remembered how she had cried for days on end, not eating or sleeping, because of two men that had broke her heart, and they were both in this city. She was sitting on ones lap. She remembered how she had vowed to never marry for love, to never let her view on life become twisted because of something so bittersweet it drove people to kill. But then, she realised something. The padlocks, those huge, iron padlocks, that had been guarding her, keeping her safe, had been being subtlety unlocked every day, and now there were only a couple of hundred left. If she kept going like this... If he kept saying things, doing things that made her look twice, or listen too hard to be normal, what would she do? What would she do if or when she fell for him again, and what would he do? Would he laugh in her face? Tell her that love was an illusion for the weak-willed and stupid? If she well in love with either of them, her life right now, which she decided she liked, despite the petty arguments, the dusty flat, the miserable weather and the disgusting crimes, would that all be ruined? If she let herself, she knew she would. But her will was so strong, and so proud that it wouldn't let her be open with herself. Is it even what she wants? Does she want a home that'd be called a love nest, a stable relationship, and... Sherlock? It all came down to him. Did she really want him, did she really want to love him? More importantly, did she want to be loved by him? Was it possible? Could someone who had spent most of their life telling themselves they didn't need love, ever really love someone? Or did it just make the love that he could feel even stronger.

"Ramona,"He snaps her out of her internal monologue. His face was completely serious, his voice completely sober, and she suddenly believed that she had been tricked into thinking he was under the influence. "Tell me you're not in love with me." Her mouth opened in complete shock, and she realised that she didn't know how to answer.

* * *

**Sorry for the massive flashback :/**

**Also sorry for the sort of cliffhanger lol**

**Thank you so much for reading! Review to make a little author's day! **


	27. Heart In A Cage

**Heart In A Cage - The Strokes**

* * *

Her face seemed to lose every single micro-expression she had been making, and it was a completely blank slate.

What would she say? What should she say? Should she lie?

But then again, how do you lie when you don't even know the truth yourself?

It seemed that every question she asked herself just gave way to ten others.

Plus, she could hear the clock ticking.

It was counting down.

She had to give an answer, but what was it?

She studied his handsome face, and for one of the first times was looking at it from a completely level angle, from his lap.

He seemed like he was shocked at himself as much as her, but yet, determined.

She knew what she should say, to get everything back to normal.

She should just say that, unfortunately, she doesn't feel like that, and everything would be safe again.

The padlocks on the cage would become locked over time, and she wouldn't have to heal, because she wasn't hurt in the first place.

That was what she should say, to avoid things getting even messier.

To avoid pain, but maybe, that was also to avoid living in the first place, and what was the point in that?

She remembered, when she was younger, she had said something similar to Sherlock. How would that girl had felt about what she was going to say? Would she have been upset? Angry?

And then, she realised that she was being selfish.

If Sherlock had asked her this, then surely that wasn't what he wanted to hear.

Who would ask someone if they loved them, if they were hoping for a no? Who in the world would bring it up in the first place?

And then, she remembered it was Sherlock Holmes she was dealing with.

Sherlock Holmes, who had said himself that he had manipulated tens of girls, toyed with their emotions to get what he wanted. Sherlock Holmes, who single-handedly ruined a woman's life by heartlessly using her. Sherlock Holmes, who didn't believe in love.

Now, why would that sort of person want to hear a yes?

Was he testing her, to see if she would remember who she was, and remember that she was nowhere near what someone who deserved to love him was like?

She had caused him to walk out on her just hours ago. She got him into trouble too often, and he got angry because of it too often. The two times that Sherlock had ever seriously sworn since she had known him, had both been because of her. How many times had he saved her, been inconvenienced slightly, or hugely by her? Why, for the love of god, would he love someone like Ramona? How could anyone? She was damaged goods, and everyone knew it.

Then why did she want him to adore her? Why did she want it so badly, so selfishly?

Why did she decide to with what she felt after that thought process, she had no idea.

She shifted slightly in his lap uncomfortably, and he saw she had come back to the living world. His hands wrapped around her small wrists, she knew that he could feel her pulse and how fast it was, practically skipping every other beat to try and catch up with itself. Her body felt a mess, and she was going against everything she had ever drilled into herself, going against her main principle. Ramona felt her room keys in her back pocket. She was hyper aware of everything happening in the room. She knew that the course of her life depended on what she said next, in this hotel room. It didn't seem like time would progress after she spoke, like there couldn't really be consequences, like nothing would actually happen, but she knew she was trying to fool herself.

She studied Sherlock, his face, his micro-expressions that at this moment were contradicting each other. When he had pretended to be under the influence, he had purposely messed up his raven locks, leaving it in a bit of a mess at the top, like he had just woken up. She saw his collarbone as her eyes drifted down, how it stuck out just enough to be pleasant to see, and not too much to look strange. His eyes looked calm, but in a sad way, as if he had just accepted that he was going to face the death penalty. And with that, the last of the locks clattered to the floor.

She couldn't tell him. She couldn't risk everything she had.

"Sherlock," His eyes seem alert as she begins, and she starts to tremble in his arms, at the magnitude of what she says next. "I don't love you." Her heart practically stopped when he showed no reaction. Was it relief, or disappointment? Was it what he had wanted to hear? Had she made the wrong decision this time? She bit her lip, and despite herself, her eyes started to fill. She had taken a fifty fifty gamble on everything she had, and she had lost.

Ramona got up to go, and got to the door, opening it, just as something grabbed her arm from behind, and pushed her back on the door that she was about to leave through, slamming it shut.

She felt a tear fall on impact with the door, and felt complete humiliation. She had brought shame on herself, and she hated herself for it. She had told the biggest lie of her life, and it hurt. Ramona decided she had to leave. After this kind of rejection, there was no way his pride could take anymore, so why was he pinning her to the wall, his hands on her shoulders? And then, as she felt she may break down in front of him, he did something that made the normal butterflies sensation feel dull.

His face was filled with confusion and shock, which only made her feel worse. Why had he had to bring feelings into this?

"I'm so sorry, Sherlock." Ramona realised that she had to make herself seem evil to atone for her sins. "Please don't make me spell it out." He backed away in shock, with this she turned and left, wondering how it had come to this. She decided to get her luggage, and head back to London. What she was doing was pure evil, as she was sure that in the morning, when he found out that she had gone, he'd follow her.

But he couldn't love her. She wouldn't let him. Over the last five years she had tried to stop herself, but it hadn't worked. She needed distance between the two of them, so that he could find someone that could be what he wanted_."A detective, but getting a different identity and location every time, and you pass all information you find on to me." _Mycroft's voice kept replaying._ "So a spy." _She had run away from her feelings, because it was the right thing to do._ "Spy is such an ugly word."_

When the door was gently pulled shut, with a sickening finality. He started to register what she had said, and felt nothing but pure humiliation and shock. When he was around her, all he felt was happiness. Why did she not feel the same? He felt hollow as what had just happened really sunk in.

* * *

**Oh my god I'm so sorry**

**Get ready for some bigger shit to go down in the next chapter mwahahah**

**Honestly just writing about their emotions exhaust me **

**Thanks for reading, and thanks even more for reviewing! It's lovely to know that some people are enjoying this, and it makes me want to write and upload more and/or quicker when I do get a review! **


	28. Limits Lie

**Limits Lie - Jamie T**

* * *

Leaving a note on Hannah's kitchen counter, explaining vaguely what had happened with a few alterations as to keep her modesty, she left 221B for the last time, and gave it one last look, in the dead of night, before hailing a cab, and heading to the Diogenes club.

"Please, do sit down." She did as she was told by the Elder Holmes' brother. She felt a heavy guilt on her chest, as if she had been pushed into the sea with a cement block on her rib cage. Ramona found she couldn't look Mycroft in the eye. She winced internally as his accusatory face appears in her mind. "What brings you here at such an unsociable hour?"

"I..." She decided she may as well come out with it. "I'd like to take you up on that job offer you made a few years ago, if it's still open." Mycroft's eyes widen in complete shock.

"What caused this sudden change of heart?" He genuinely didn't know. She had successfully kept him in the dark about that, at least.

"I would tell you, but..."

"My brother." She looked up at the guess, which was right on the money. "What did he do?" Ramona looked down, her elbows on her thighs, and put her face in her hands, before looking up.

"He needs more surveillance, if that's at all possible." She looks concerned, and at this, Mycroft seemed pleased.

"What happened, exactly?" She sighed, not completely the Ramona she was normally, when in front of Mycroft. She hadn't slept since any of it had happened, as this was all happening in the same night.

"Without going into details, I realised that I don't belong where I am currently." His face looked calculating. The study made it feel as if he was an emperor, and she was coming here to beg for some of his wealth.

"Before I make a decision, I need to ask you something." She looked up, to finally meet his eyes, and saw that Mycroft was taken aback by the tortured look in her sapphire eyes. He seemed more guarded than usual, his manner slightly off as he regarded her. Mycroft took a breath, as if preparing. "How do you feel towards my brother?" There were a few seconds of silence, in which she wasn't sure what he was talking about.

"I still don't have a clue what you're going on about, but I'm sure that anything Sherlock thinks about me, I probably think about him, too." Mycroft chewed the inside of his cheek in deep thought, and she wondered what thoughts were probably racing, or perhaps being pieced together. He took a second, and then clicked at Anthea, his assistant.

"I'm going to show you something top secret, Miss Doherty." Anthea went over to a grey file cabinet, and took out a key she was wearing around her neck, unclipping it from the necklace. "I trust that I have your utmost discretion, as theses are matters that cannot leave this office, in the interest of the country." Ramona rolled her eyes.

"Are you telling me not to tell Sherlock?" She said, not interested in playing along anymore. He raised an eyebrow at the dead tone. "Because if it's against his better interest, you know I won't." Anthea locked the cabinet, and walked over to her, heels clicking as she walked, and placed the file on the desk in front of her. She cocked her head in interest at the cliche looking file, opening it. She looked up to see Mycroft's expression, which was one of anticipation, or perhaps anxiety.

He looked calculating, and watched her face carefully as she opened the file.

**Project Guardian **

**\- Top Secret -**

"Project Guardian?" She murmured. Ramona turned the page, and found a photo of her in her school uniform, that had been taken of her on her way to secondary school, when she was around fourteen.

"Why do you have this?" She said, unclipping the photo and holding up the photo for him to see. Her tone was slightly panicked. What did Mycroft know about her that she didn't about herself?

And then, as she read, he watched her face fall.

**Project Guardian**

**Objective - Protect Britain's greatest mind from itself **

"I don't understand what this has to do with me-" But her stomach had already dropped, because she knew what was coming next.

"Just read it." He said, a neutral expression, and a perfectly balanced voice. Not serious, but by no means casual.

**Ramona Coralie Doherty, AKA Archangel **

**Is a perfect candidate for the task, as she matches SH in intelligence, speed, and logic. Although she is only in Secondary education, special measures will be taken to ensure her safety, in order for her to make it to adulthood. It has been proven that she can kill without hesitation.**

"No..." She turned the page, but she already knew what was going to be there.

A picture of Hannah was paper clipped to the next page. Ramona brought her hands to her nose and mouth, not even breathing in complete disbelief.

**Mia Collins, AKA Hannah Knowles **

**Is the ideal person to carry out the mission, as she has shown intelligence, wit, speed, strength, and enough cunning to successfully carry out deception and infiltrate Archangel. **

Tears started to fall from Ramona's eyes, and she felt an utter humiliation she had never felt in such strong waves. The one person that she could depend on, the one person that she could put her life into the hands on, her one and only _best friend, _the girl that she thought resembled a golden retriever, an excitable, childish girl with wild hair, that could always cheer her up, Her only friend from her teenage years, had been deceiving and lying to her the whole time, even with her name. She had even lied about her name, probably her background, too.

Ramona turned the page, another step into deeper misery.

**Appropriate measures taken for the safety of all the occupants of this file has been as follows:**

**Perverting the course of justice, to give Archangels sister a smaller jail sentence for a crime committed by the candidate herself**

**Funding Mia Collins' University fees**

**Renovating apartment 221c**

**Surveillance on Archangel, from age 13 to present date **

**The only other person aware of Project Guardian, the building's landlady **

"You..." The tearful glare that Mycroft was exposed to shook him. "My whole life." She looked at him desperately, as if asking him to tell her it wasn't true "It's all just been a set up."

"Do you see now? You can't leave him, as that is your purpose-"

"I'm a _person!_ I don't have a purpose!" She got up quickly, so furious, that yet again, the heavy chair she had been sat at moments ago clattered to the floor behind her dramatically. Ramona's whole world turned upside down in a matter of minutes. She didn't care what Mycroft thought of her anymore, because she hated him. She hated his guts. "You stole my life! You took my whole life, and you _used _it, to protect your precious brother!" He looked surprisingly calm.

"However, you do feel an intense urge to protect him, don't you?" This stopped her in her tracks, tears still coming.

"Don't you understand? That means _nothing_ anymore!" She notices Anthea raise an eyebrow. "It was all fake, set up, it was meant to happen, because you made it happen!" At this, Mycroft looked unphased. "Everything I thought I knew means nothing to me anymore. My whole life story, all my feelings, were just something you made up, because you wanted Sherlock to have a Guardian Angel, so you played God, and look how far it's got you!" Mycroft looked as composed as ever, and that made her even angrier.

"Well, now that you know, what will you do?" She took a moment, and found that she was completely empty. She had to reach deep to actually find anything to say.

"I'll protect him as much as I can, but I'll have as little direct contact with him as is possible." Ramona paused. "For this, I'll need to be sorely compensated." Mycroft sighed, and got his chequebook out of a draw in his desk.

"I'd guessed this much." He clicked an expensive pen. Now was the time he figured her out, what kind of person she actually was. "Well, how much will it be?" He figured anything two million or over, and she was greedy. Ramona swallowed, figuring pushing her luck couldn't be helped, considering what had happened.

"Seven hundred and fifty grand, and I'll be out of your hair." He would give it to her, but first, he wanted to see what she was made of.

"And what should you do if I think that's too much?" Her eyes narrowed.

"Don't fucking test me, Mycroft." She spat his name like it was the filthiest thing imaginable, and he actually flinched, but then smirked. "That amount exactly, or I swear to god, you'll wish you'd never laid eyes on me." And then, Mycroft saw a spark of something inside her that frightened even a man as powerful as him. Where had he seen it before?

"If it's that much, I'll transfer it to your account." He toyed with her, even after everything he had done.

"Do it before sunrise, or I tell Sherlock everything." He looked up, to see she was walking away.

"You wouldn't." She turned around, and she turned around, with a look of complete seriousness.

"Are you really going to risk calling my bluff?" She walked away, and Mycroft knew from the look in her eyes that the next time he saw her, she'd either be dead, or Sherlock would be. He shuddered, as Anthea put the file away.

* * *

Ramona walked out of the club, feeling like she no longer had an identity. Where would she go? It was still ridiculously dark, and she figured that Sherlock wouldn't be back until the afternoon. So, she decided to go home, take the note off Han- Mia's kitchen counter, and sleep for a few hours, and then she'd decide what to do.

Thankfully, Mrs Hudson wasn't home, and the whole building was empty apart from her. She felt as if she was already just a ghost of the past as she walked up the stairs, and into her bedroom, before passing out on her bed, before she could even get changed, or getting under the covers.

Ramona blinked her eyes open, to find that her room was ridiculously bright. For a moment, she felt like nothing had transpired in the early hours of the last morning, and closed her eyes blissfully. As she was about to fall back asleep, she recalled all of the events, and moaned in complete agony into her pillow. Did she really have to wake up? Putting a hand to her head, and rubbing her temples, she came out of her room into the hallway, to find the flat completely empty. Well, what had she expected?

Ramona had a shower and got dressed into something different, before going into the living room and switching on the television.

She was still shell-shocked, from having her whole life monopolised and trivialised by a man such as Mycroft. Just the thought of his name brought enough anger that it almost brought her to tears, so she decided to let sleeping dogs lie.

But for some reason, she knew she couldn't move out. How would she protect Sherlock if they weren't together?

Situations and people can be faked, but Sherlock wasn't fake. He was one of the only people close to her that hadn't known about project guardian. Surely he was as much a victim as she was?

Ramona once again checked her phone. Nothing. Not one call, or even just a text from him. She was worried, but if she contacted him, she knew it'd be going against what she had promised to herself, so, in a split decision, she took the sim card out of her expensive phone, which their was no way she was getting rid of, dropped the small piece of plastic on the floor of the kitchen, and crushed it into little bits in between her shoe and the floor in a passive aggressive sort of way, for nothing more than the feeling of destruction, however tiny. It felt satisfying, but then again, it felt like she had crushed more than a sim card in the process. She heard a noise, and turned around, and saw Sherlock, who had seen everything.

He took off his gloves and put them in his coat pocket. He looked nonchalant, as if nothing had happened.

"Where did you go?" His intense gaze was harrowing at a time like this, and she desperately wanted to tell him.

"I talked to Mycroft about a job." At the mention of his brother's name, his eyes narrowed.

"A job?"

"He offered me one a while ago, and I declined." She crouched down and picked up the sim card. "I went to see if the offer was still there."

"And was it?" She paused.

"No." He raised an eyebrow at her expression, and went to sit in his chair. The English sense of a stiff upper lip prohibited them both from starting a proper discussion of what had happened only six hours ago. He could tell she wasn't telling the whole truth.

"Listen, I don't know what kind of wrong idea you got, but-" He began, breaking the silence.

"I wasn't in my right mind, and I overreacted." She said, not sure who she was trying to reason with. "Let's just forget it happened, after all, every friendship has weird moments." Ramona forced a smile, even though she felt like crying.

"I'll delete it." He said.

"Delete what?" She winked. He smiled, but it wasn't completely in spirit.

* * *

Before Ramona knew it, she was in her bedroom, sound asleep, the whirlwind of emotions obviously tiring her out.

She woke up and it was dark. Having no food in and a large bank account, she decided to go to the supermarket at ten o'clock. She was living in a high class area, so there was no reason for her to avoid going out in the dark as long as she stayed in that area.

After shopping, she made her way back to the building, And fished for her keys in her back pocket. Ramona was admittedly having a hard time getting to it with all the bags of shopping, and at this, she was tapped on the shoulder.

She jumped back in shock, before looking up at the man.

"Fancy seeing you here." Kain remarked.

"Why're you here?" Why did she have to run into him of all people, and this time, and this place?

"Am I not allowed to visit an old friend?" She let out an annoyed huff. It really would be just her luck. "So after all you said, you're still talking to me?" He took some of the heavy shopping bags from her before she could protest, and swung them over his shoulder with ease.

"Yes, I realised I couldn't live without you and will momentarily throw myself at your feet." She could get to her keys now, and opened the door.

"I see. Well in that case, I'll take you home after this." Why was he so incessant about making it that way?

"No, I don't think you will." He smirked, and followed her up the stairs.

"I'm not that patient, y'know." She opened the door to 221b. "Wait, this is your apartment?" She rolled her eyes.

"No, I have the key because I'm breaking in." She held out a hand for her bags. "You should get going." He frowned.

"Can't I see your flat? I think I deserve a reward."

"And I think you deserve a kick up the arse, but I'm not going to give it to you." He chuckled and walked past her, raising an eyebrow when he saw it.

"I knew you were an intellectual, but I didn't think it'd be this cliche." She struggled not to snarl. Sherlock was probably asleep in his room, but she didn't want him to see Kain.

"Okay, you've seen it, so you can leave now." He narrowed his eyes, putting the bags on the kitchen table.

"Why'd you want me out in such a hurry?" He cocked his head to the side. Her face was blank as she walked in front of the violin as to hide it from view.

"Because I don't like having insects in my kitchen." His eyes widened in epiphany.

"Is there someone here you don't want me to see?" She'd been caught, and her face spelled it out. He smirked.

"Get out, Kain." She said, in a warning tone.

"Or if your alone, then why don't you show me around?" He began walking up the hallway, towards Sherlock's room, his door uncharacteristically closed. Before he knew it, she grabbed his jacket, and he turned around to look at her.

"Fine-" At that, the door to the detective's room opened, to reveal a Sherlock wearing a white top and sweatpants, and had obviously been sleeping, from his hair and eyes that had only just adjusted. He looked slightly shocked, even confused, but mostly irritated someone had interrupted his sleep.

"Oh, I see how it is." Kain turned around to leave. She rolled her eyes.

"He's my flatmate, it's not like that." She said after him. Could things get any worse?

"Good." With that, he left. She turned back around to Sherlock, who she could feel seething behind her.

His face was that of complete annoyance, and his face actually turned up in disgust at her. For someone who slept rarely, he despised being interrupted when he actually did. He gave her a glare, and shut the bedroom door in her face. She sighed, and decided to go to bed herself.

* * *

Ramona woke up, and remembered that it was a work day.

She stood in the shop, guiding a man to one of the more expensive suits. He decided to buy it, with a lot of meaningless flirting being used to get to that. She checked her watch, seeing it was an hour until her shift ended. She thanked God, and then, as the next customers entered, she cursed him.

"We've got a groom and a best man looking to be fitted for their suits. Yes, they've got an appointment." One of the shop girls talked to the boss through the phone. "Yes, alright." As Ramona was trying to sneak away from the whole thing, she caught her. "Ramona, go fit the best man." Her smile was forced and uneasy.

"But- but my shift-"

"Ends in an hour, you have plenty of time. Stop slacking and do your job." She nodded in defeat, and trying to not look too embarrassed, walked into the main shop floor. Another girl led John off, and left the two together, alone, in silence. He had known she'd be here at this time, so he had come here. For what, to humiliate her?

"If you want to pick a suit and have it pinned, or I could take your measurements and-" The bell on the door rung, and at that moment, she wanted to run out of the shop. Ramona reckoned she could get out if she made a b-line, but it was already too late. Sherlock turned around, and instantly looked the most aggressive she had ever seen him. Ramona was surprised he didn't growl.

Kain smirked and walked over, his walk confident as ever.

"Don't tell me you're here for a suit, because I've never seen you wear anything that could be regarded as formal in my whole life." He grinned at the insult, as if he liked it when she mocked him.

"Surprisingly, no." He shared a look with Sherlock, in which his arrogant smirk turned into something that would only make Sherlock more angry. "I'm actually here to ask you to lunch." She tried to not look surprised.

"Unfortunately for you, I'd rather die." He raised his eyebrows.

"But you were being so submissive last night, I thought that you wanted me to ask you out." Sherlock's face was a blank slate. "Could it be," He leaned in, and his voice got quieter. "That you pretend not to like me when he's around?" Sherlock looked shocked for a second.

"Well, as much as I enjoyed your interruption, I'm actually in a hurry." Kain turned to him. "So, if you could have this lover's quarrel some other time, I'd appreciate it." His eyes were a white hot burning. Kain's aura changed.

"You don't scare me in the slightest." His smirk turned to a slight snarl, as the two men, which were the exact same height squared up to each other. "I don't care how jealous you are, it wont stop me getting what I want." Ramona was surprised Sherlock hadn't set on fire, with how angry he was.

"If I don't scare you," His voice was the most agitated it had ever been. "Then maybe I should hit that arrogant look off your face, and give you something to be afraid of." A fight could break out at any moment, from the tension that put them in their own testosterone filled world.

"I _dare _you." Kain's eyes narrowed, and she saw a side to the normally ice cool man that made her think perhaps he wasn't as composed as she had thought. "Get in my way, and just see what happens." With this, he looked to Ramona, and winked, before going to walk away.

"I don't know why you think I'm jealous." Kain stopped. "It's not that I don't like her being in a relationship, I simply despise you." Sherlock's voice was dripping with venom.

"Well, there'll be no hard feelings if I take her then, will there?" He walked out of the shop, and Sherlock went to go after him. She grabbed his arm, and he stopped, turning to her, shocked from the microscopic amount of contact.

"He's trying to make you angry, you're giving him what he wants." She felt his muscles tense with rage, and then, with a deep inhale, he composed himself.

"Take my measurements." She nodded, and led him to the fitting room.

Once inside, Ramona closed the door behind them and locked it, took out a tape measure and a notepad from her small belt that they were made to wear. He took off his suit jacket. The silence in the changing room made her cringe internally, and her heart beat fast at the obvious awkwardness that Sherlock didn't seem to notice.

"Your arm first." At least that wasn't an intimate measurement. He gave her his arm, never taking his eyes off her. She refused to look him in the eye. She ran the tape measure down his arm, and took a note of the number.

"How does he know where you work?" He said heavily, obviously still seething with anger. She frowned.

"Now that I think about it, I'm not sure."

"He also said something about last night." She began to take his over-arm shoulder width, keeping the tape measure at the back corner of one shoulder, just below where his clavicle ended. She ran it across the top of his shoulders, behind his neck and to the back corner of the other shoulder. Their faces were now close, and her face was flushed with embarrassment. She never had the problem of feeling awkward whilst taking measurements, as they normally gave off a feeling of awkwardness as well. However, instead of looking away the way she did, He just watched her face.

"Care to explain that?" He sounded angrier than she had heard in a long time, and she could see the restraint in his eyes as she locked with them, before stepping back and noting the measurement.

"He's..." She started, whilst still writing. "He helped me with my shopping bags." Instead of looking shocked, Sherlock looks angrier than ever.

"So he followed you." She sighed, now taking his chest measurement, running the tape measure around the fullest part of his chest, and underneath both of his arms. As she focused on this area, and the silence set in, she could see how his shirt moved as he inhaled and exhaled, and how it shook in a minuscule way with every calm heartbeat. She took the measurement and noted it.

Ramona quickly measured his in and outstep, going to a special place where she didn't feel any shame for a while.

"You're one to talk." She saw him tense his jaw, and for the first time, looked away for a second, before turning his gaze back on her. Her presence became even more awkward as she realised she had to take a neck measurement.

"If you could undo a few buttons at the top of shirt, just so I could get a neck measurement." He went to do it, but then his arms fell, and he smirked for the first time since he had gotten here.

"I think I'll have you do it." He said, obvious he was enjoying the power. Anger flared in Ramona, despite everything that had happened. Why did he take such an enjoyment in seeing her suffer? "It's not as if you haven't had any practice, is it?" She gritted her teeth at the insult. He saw this, and felt satisfied.

"I-"

"Or would you want me to tell the manager that you're incompetent?" He saw her fists tighten slightly, and then relax.

"Yes, of course," She looked up, to show him how angry she was. "Sir." He raised an eyebrow at the effect that had on him. After all, they were locked in a confined space together, anything could happen, couldn't it? He smirked in utter pleasure at having the upper hand.

Ramona realised her hands were slightly shaking, and she hated that she couldn't calm herself. It was just a few buttons, not the end of the world. She calmed herself, took a deep breath, and started on the first one. She didn't dare to look up at him, because she knew she'd only see a face she didn't recognise. She undid the first small white button, and swallowed. going to the second, and then the third. He stared at her face, knowing she didn't have what it took to return the gaze.

Ramona reached a hand around, to wrap the tape measure around the bottom of the detective's neck, just above his collar bone, where his collar would be normally. The air was heavy, and she felt her stomach flip. Ramona could hear his calm breathing, and for a moment, he was the only thing in the world.

Seeing the effect this had on her, he felt happy with himself. Sherlock could see she was obviously fighting something inside her. The humiliated woman took the measurement and noted it down. And then, it came to the worst part. She couldn't deny there was an intense atmosphere.

"I-"

"My hips, I know." The smirk was apparent just in his voice, and she wanted to run for the hills. She wondered why he was in such a sadistic mood. That electric feeling up her spine only got more apparent as her hands went down to where his hips were, and had to touch them slightly, to uncover where his trousers sat perfectly. With a huge amount of will power, she wrapped the tape measure all the way around the points of his hips, and found that in the current situation, she could have him right now. She could pull him towards her. A slight motion of her hands now, and it would be game over. She froze, and found she couldn't move her hands, her eyes wide, as she realised something that had been staring her in the face the whole time.

"You already know your measurements, don't you?" He smirked one sidedly, and she pulled away, embarrassed that she hadn't seen it earlier.

"Sorry, I guess it was a whim." She bit her lip, and looked up.

"Maybe you should stop letting your whims control your actions, and learn to control them." She said, with an amount of conviction it made him flinch. Now that he thought about it, feelings like this had never been existent, so he hadn't had anything to control. But now, they were present and in large quantites.

"Are you telling me you didn't enjoy it?" Anger flooded everything, and she saw red.

"Yes, I really enjoyed being completely humiliated by you, thank you for such a wonderful fifteen minutes." It had felt like more time. He had been enjoying having this much power over her, and had thought that she was enjoying it too.

"That's strange, I had you pinned for a masochist."

"A masochist?!" He knew she was furious with him, even if it had been a joke, she didn't seem to find it funny. "You may have been enjoying being perverted and making me do things that I obviously found uncomfortable, but believe it or not, I don't like it when people blackmail me into undressing them. Now, if you'd stop wasting my time, it's the end of my shift now, so I'll be leaving." She said, and with that, stormed out of the shop, leaving him completely stunned.

She left the shop, and with only her phone and purse, and started walking towards a cafe. Suddenly, her world was enveloped in darkness. She stopped in her high heels in confusion, and saw that she could lift the darkness off her. It was a large bomber jacket. She turned around, and saw Kain approaching her.

He had been waiting for her to leave, seen her walking in the cold weather with only a blouse and a pencil skirt, and decided to throw his jacket on her.

"Coralie." He greeted her. "Put it on." He said, with a smile. "I'm taking you to lunch." Her anger at Sherlock still clouded her judgement, and she obliged without a second thought. It was big on her, and she rolled up the sleeves, but it still came down to the bottom of her hips.

Sherlock ran out of the shop after her, properly dressed again, intending to stop her. He looked to his right, and saw her. And then he saw who she was with, and what she was wearing. Fury and desperation took hold of him, and he let out a sound of utter exasperation, realising he had been too late. He threw his head back, looking at the sky, and inwardly cursing his luck. He then stormed back inside.

"What happened that you were out of there in such a hurry?" He asked nonchalantly.

"Sherlock." She said. "Sherlock Holmes happened." Kain raised an eyebrow, guessing that he wasn't actually her brother-in-law.

After a lunch that was actually enjoyable, although Ramona would never admit it, she felt she had calmed down a bit, as he walked her back.

"So, what did he do?" His voice was casual, but there was an obvious undertone of darkness.

"Well..." How did she put it, without sounding like she had overreacted? "He humiliated me, because he liked my reactions." He frowned.

"Are you sure that wasn't me?" She thought, and then chuckled.

"You're alike, in some ways."

"God, I hope not." She shrugged at his dramatic tone.

"This wedding, are you going?" She bit her lip.

"Well, I was going to go, but after everything that's happened..." She remembered she hadn't told Kain about anything, and decided to keep it that way. "I sort of dumped my plus one last month, and going to a wedding on your own..." He looked in an expecting fashion.

"So, you're asking me to come with you?" Her eyes widened.

"Of course not, you'd just embarrass me." He raised an eyebrow.

"It sounded like you were trying to get me to say I'd come with you, though." He said with a knowing smirk. She sighed.

"Fine, fine." She gave in.

"Fine as in?"

"Fine as in, will you be my plus one?" There was a pause in which she thought he might actually refuse.

"Well, I suppose I could make time in my busy schedule-"

"You're an unemployed bum!"

"Ah ah, a _rich _unemployed bum!" He wagged his finger, and despite her grudge, she smiles.

* * *

The stag night was tonight, so she knew that he'd be out all of the night. Ramona went over to the sofa, wrapped herself in her white fluffly blanket, and began reading, the most relaxed she'd felt in a while.

Suddenly, the main door to the building was opened, and slammed shut, making her jump. _Why are they home so early? It's barely eleven!_

Ramona notices there are no sounds of people coming up the stairs. She frowns, getting up, she carefully tiptoes across the flat, opening the door, and peering down the stairs. To her surprise, they were both asleep on the stairs, like the pair of idiots they were.

She went to her room, deciding to let them ruin their backs on the stairs, and that she didn't want to encounter them in that state. Ramona was definitely tired from the day's events. She heard the door to the flat open and close gently, and after a pause, uneven footsteps coming towards her room. She closed her eyes and pretended to be asleep in case the person came into her room. Suddenly, light was cast into her dark bedroom from the light of the hallway.

She froze. She opened one eye to look into the reflection of her window, and saw that behind her, was a very drunk looking Sherlock. He looked unphased. He shut the door gently behind him, and approached her, if not stumbling slightly. Before she knew it, he was right behind her.

"Did I wake you up?" He said, in a bemused tone. She sighed and sat up in the dark, realising he was sat on the side of her bed, by her knees. It was obvious he was drunk, from the slight swaying of his usually deathly still and controlled body.

"Why are you in my room?" He shrugs.

"I wanted to see you." He slurred, grinning slightly.

"Well, you've seen me, so you can leave." She said, in a harsh tone she hadn't used towards him in a while. She was still extremely angry, and still felt awkward.

"What'll it take for you to forgive me?" She raised her eyebrows at his directness.

"I wont forgive you after less than a day." There was silence, and suddenly, he let himself fall back, so that he was lay horizontally over her knees. She scowls in pain, and frees her legs.

"What are you doing?"

"M'sleeping." He remarked, as if it was obvious. She tried not to laugh, turning on the lamp on her bedside table, which lit the room in a gentle, warm light.

"You can't do that here." He huffed, and she looked at him, as her heart skipped at his appearance. His raven hair looked soft and messy against the white of her duvet cover. He was fully stretched out, eyes closed, his hip bones sticking out in a manner that she could reach out and touch them. His pale neck was also displayed, the detective's Adam's apple sticking out. She bit her lip. _Is he doing this on purpose? Does he know I can't be angry at him when he's so beautiful? _

Suddenly, he let out a deep moan that made her eyes widen and edge backwards from him. _What even is that sound? _Ramona swallows, trying not the effect show. _How did he make that noise? _"My head hurts." She tensed her jaw and rolled her eyes, trying to calm herself down.

"I- I'm not surprised." He smirked, and opened his eyes, looking towards her. She looked outraged.

"Come into the living room with me?" She frowned, and then shook her head.

"It's a stag do."

"It'll be better if you're there." Her eyes widened, and she decided she had had enough of Sherlock making her feel like that. She put two hands either side of his head, and looked him head on, even if she was blushing slightly.

"Get out of my room." He smiled lazily, looking very satisfied. "Or else I'll-" She was cut off suddenly, when he got up slightly, resting on his elbows. Their noses were touching. Ramona felt her pulse get even faster.

"You'll what?" If she backed down now, he'd only manipulate her like this later. Although she liked that idea, her self control prevailed.

"I'll send John home, having had a fairly rubbish night, and he'll think you're a bad best man." He smirked at the response. She got a faint smell of alcohol from his breath, which wasn't necessarily unpleasant.

"And then I'll be left in your room with you, all alone?" Her eyes widened and she knew she had lost, getting away from him, and standing up.

"Why are you such a sex fiend when you're drunk?!" She almost shouted, annoyed. He threw back his head and laughed, getting up.

"It's too easy to get a rise out of you, Ramona." He walked past her, to the door. She fumed.

"Get out!" She hissed, opening the door and pushing the stumbling detective out of the room. She shut it, and rested her back against the door, exhaling in relief and sinking slightly.

He was getting better at winding her up, that was for certain.

* * *

The next morning, Ramona woke up to a phone call. With a disorientated face, she took her phone from the floor and answered it, putting another hand to rub her temples.

"Hello?"

"Hi, it's Lestrade." She squints in disbelief.

"What is it?"

"It's John and Sherlock, you'll have to come pick them up."

"Pick them-" Realisation hit her. "Oh for god's sake. I'll be fifteen minutes." She hung up and got ready.

Ramona leaned on the front desk in the police station, thoroughly exasperated and amused. She had brought two isotonic drink with her for the men that would obviously be hungover.

She sees them stumbling down the hallway towards him, Sherlock in a worst state than John. Ramona tries not to laugh at Greg's expression, as Sherlock quickly tucks his shirt in and subtlety hides his face from her.

* * *

**And on that bombshell!**

**I'd been planning that out for quite a while, the whole Hannah not being who she said she was, Mycroft doing it for Sherlock etc etc**

**I haven't seen it done before, but there's still a plot twist coming up much later that I have planned out, which I think you'll like ;)**

**I've also been editing the first few chapters, after going back and wondering how anyone could have actually read them, and I changed Ramona's starting age to eighteen, and closed the age gap between her and Sherlock so it's only four years now, as it kept weirding me out how old he is in this, as he's definitely not that old in the show haha**

**Thanks a bunch for reading my story, and especially reviewing, it really means the world!**


	29. There She Goes

**There She Goes - The La's**

* * *

"Are you sure you don't want anything dear?" Mrs Hudson asked Ramona. She couldn't get over the fact that she knew all along about Project Guardian, and she hated her for it.

"I said; I'm fine." She snapped at the woman. Sherlock gave her a disapproving and questioning look, which she tried to ignore. Perhaps she was being a little harsh.

He had six laptops open on the table, trying to investigate the mystery of a ghost serial dater.

"You do know there are such things as different tabs, right?" She said. He ignored her as she watched over his shoulder.

"There's nothing the same about the mayfly from their accounts, no unifying factor." He thought for a second. "Not even the women." She bites her lip. As he types to ask them about their jobs, she comes up with something.

"Perhaps..." He looks to her, not realising how close her profile was. He quickly looks back forward. "If they were hiding something he might want to know?" He raises an eyebrow and asks them, and one by one, they log off. The detectives frown.

"Why? Why would he date all of those women and not return their calls?" Ramona snorted at the man who obviously had no romantic experience.

"You're missing the obvious, mate." John said, and she nodded.

"Am I?" Sherlock said, turning to him.

"Yeah, he's a man." She said.

"But why would he change his identity?" She nods.

"Maybe he's married." John replied. Suddenly, both Ramona and Sherlock's eyes widen, straightening up, as if realising something.

"Ohh." They say in union.

* * *

The morning of the wedding was slow off the mark. Ramona got up with a low groan, as she did most mornings. She hit the top of her alarm violently, as she did most mornings, and dug her face back into her pillow, as she did most mornings. She lay there for a few seconds, before gasping and jumping out of bed, remembering what day it was, and why she had set an alarm on a Saturday.

Ramona went into the kitchen and switched the kettle on and put three slices of bread in the toaster, her groggy blue eyes just about adjusting to the flat. She sat on the counter wrapped in a fluffy baby pink dressing gown, letting out a deep exhale and swinging her legs. She didn't know if she was excited or nervous.

Mrs Hudson didn't come up every morning anymore, as she knew Ramona could at least make tea for the dependent detective. She closed her eyes and leaned her head back to rest on the cupboard, knowing she'd be awake for at least the next twenty four hours.

Suddenly, the serenade of a violin could be heard from the living room, and she opened her eyes to see Sherlock waltzing around the living room, holding an imaginary partner. She raised an eyebrow and sniggered. The music instantly stopped, and Sherlock was now facing her with defensive crossed arms and she thought she saw a slight blush on his face, before it returned to the usual Sherlock-esque composure.

"You can shut up." A corner of her mouth turned up in a smirk, and she held her hands up in a surrender, raising her eyebrows and jumping off from the counter, as the kettle finally boiled.

"I didn't say _anything." _Ramona stated, taking a teacup and a mug out of the cupboard, putting a teabag in both and filling them full of hot water.

"At least I can dance." She frowned and turned around.

"I _can _dance." She pouted slightly in embarrassment. "I just choose not to." She turned back around, and jumped slightly as the bread popped up in the toaster, and she began buttering the slices. He snorted in disbelief and light mockery.

"If what you're insisting is true, then dance with me right now." He said, and her eyes widen in shock. She had planned to avoid the dancefloor in slow songs at least, as to not reveal this piece of information, especially not to him. But if she said no, it would let him mock her about this forever. She bit her lip, and then turned around.

"Fine, but I don't see why you won't believe me." The reason she didn't know how was because she had never danced formally in her life. He smirked in satisfaction as she walked over, and he outstretched a hand for her to take. Thankfully, her hands were cold from the kitchen counter, although his were surprisingly warm, for someone who appeared so cold most of the time. He switched the music to start playing from the beginning, and got into position, his hand on her shoulder blade. She did as he did and put hers on his.

He let out a laugh, took her hand and placed it on top of his shoulder. His face was enigmatic with a hidden happiness, and she found herself slightly in awe of his disheveled hair, and his eyes, already so alive so early in the morning.

"You've really never done this before, have you?" She blushed furiously and looked away. It was a humiliation, as dancing like this should be common knowledge. He saw her expression, and realised he was right. This made him feel sad, and disbelieving. This meant she had never been to anything such as a school dance, had never been to anything remotely formal, and most importantly, had never been asked to dance. He couldn't believe that a woman such as herself had never took an outstretched hand, and been led to a dancefloor. "Just follow my lead, I'll teach you." She nodded slightly, ready to become even more embarrassed. He saw this and tried to make it easier. "Do the opposite of my feet with yours." Another small nod, and he smiled down at her, even though she was hiding her face from him.

"Well start with the left box, the simplest." She was extremely aware of his large hand, and his fingers laced with hers. Didn't people usually just clasp hands, instead of actually holding hands while dancing the waltz? "Count in threes and it should be simple." She nodded, yet again. Why was he doing this? Was he enjoying seeing her humiliated yet again, or was he actually trying to help her?

Slowly, he stepped forwards with his left, and she stepped back with her right. Maybe this wouldn't be so hard? He stepped diagonally with his right, and she quickly mirrored him. He then stepped back so that his feet were stood together, and she did the same. He could feel how hard she was concentrating, trying not to slip up in front of him. He stepped back with his right, and then diagonally forward with his left, however at this point, her right foot also went forward, causing her to step on his foot. Her eyes widened in horror and she looked up, expecting to see an angry expression. Instead, there was a gentle smile of bliss she had never seen on his face.

"Sor-"

"Don't apologise." She swallowed. He probably thought she was stupid by this point, not being able to memorise a simple set of instructions. "Shall we try again?" At this point, she noticed how gentle his hand was around hers. She nodded silently.

They tried again, and she began to lose her initial nerves. As her confidence grew, they began to go quicker, and she realised he had been taking it slow for her sake. As they began to add turns, she lifted her head and smiled in delight, dancing for the first time. His lips parted in shock at the expression, her hair bobbing to the steps, her hand holding his tightly, as to not fall. He decided it was one of the best feelings he had ever experienced, as he stared into her eyes, his face now cheerful.

However in the euphoria of learning something new, she forgot herself and yet again stood on his toes, this time harder. It took him off balance as he tried to step forward, and made him fly forwards, causing her to fall back, taking him with her.

Ramona opened her screwed shut eyes, to find that she was lying on the floor. It then became apparent to her that she was being trapped, with Sherlock's body pressed against hers, his face over her right shoulder. She could hear him breathing, and could feel his curls against the side of her face. He grunted slightly, and lifted himself up, his hands either side of her head. This brought his face dangerously close to hers, and they both froze, two pairs of blue eyes wide. She could smell the mint in his breath, the tips of their noses but an inch away.

His face was one of confusion, his brows furrowed and his eyes searching. She realised how he could be seeing her dilated pupils, and could have felt her racing pulse.

She breaks out of the trance he had put her in, and covers his eyes with her hand, pushing him backwards so that they were both knelt facing each other on the floor, still with her hand over his eyes. She smiled and kissed his forehead, and saw how his mouth fall open, also feeling the sudden heat of his cheeks.

"Thank you, Sherlock." She got up and went to get ready, leaving him shell-shocked, knelt on the floor, deciding it was indecent to be having the thoughts he was currently having so early in the morning.

* * *

She adored the dress she put on, which was a shade of navy, but not too dark. It had the initial actual dress, that went to the middle of her thigh, had a plunging neckline in the middle of her chest and an open back. There was then a layer of lace to the dress, which had a simple floral design to it, with sleeves to the middle of her forearm, covered the initial dress but didn't cover her chest, fell down and flowed out slightly, which with the open heels she wore almost touched the floor. She also had an expensive white clutch purse and a long silver necklace with a single circular pendant, and long silver earrings, in the shape of leaves. She had waved her hair slightly and put it in a middle parting, how it had cut to be, and her now growing hair just about reached to the bottom of her shoulder plates. She took one last nervous look, and exited her bedroom, to find Sherlock waiting in his best mans suit, stood in the kitchen near the door. As he saw her, he glanced once and then looked again, his eyes wide. She opened her purse to check she hadn't forgotten anything.

"You-" She looked up to see Sherlock, his cheeks flushed with colour, and his eyes, which although were the same blue, looked darker than usual. "You aren't actually wearing that, are you?" She frowned.

"No, I put it on because I'm wearing something else." She shook her head slightly, and went to the kitchen table, looking for the document that confirmed she had booked a room in the hotel the reception was being held, in which most of the wedding guests were staying, as it was out in the country, and it was obviously not an option to drive home the same night.

"Surely it's rude to wear something like that!" She frowned harder, and turned to him.

"How is it rude? I like this dress."

"I like it too," His eyes widen at what he had blurted out. "B-but that's besides the point!" He was rarely flustered, but she could clearly see he was now. "At a wedding, the attention is traditionally centered around the bride, that being Mary. Stealing her spotlight on a day like this is considered extremely disrespectful." She raised an eyebrow, and laughed. He seemed confused at this response.

"Look, I highly doubt anyone's going to be focusing on me when it's their wedding day, alright?" She shook her head and folded the document, putting it into her purse, and snapping it shut. "It's not like I'm pulling an Irene Adler and turning up naked, is it?" She chuckled to herself. At this, Sherlock paused for a second, and then replied, even more flustered than before.

"If you wear that, I'm positive you'll have the attention of all the males in the entire congregation, perhaps even John!" He took a step closer. "Do you really want to ruin their marriage? Is that what this is? Are you trying to take away their happiness?!" She laughed harder.

"Come on Sherlock-"

"Or is it for him?" At this, her laughing stopped. "Are you dressing like that to make him want you even more?" He looked as if he'd figured out the purpose of life. "You haven't had sex in approximately three months and twenty eight days, six hours and seven minutes, could it be that you want tonight to restart the counter?" She looked enraged.

"Restart the counter?! That's literally the creepiest thing I've ever heard!" He swallowed. "What do you also know, my measurements, my sleeping patterns, the underwear I'm wearing, what I'm like in bed?!" She said, half joking at the last one. His reaction made her heart sink in embarrassment and anger, and her jaw drop. He looked away, resembling a puppy with its tail between its legs. "Sherlock." She growled, making him look at her.

"34 - 23 - 35," Her eyes and face were on fire. "On average, five to six hours a night, five on Friday nights and nine on Saturday nights," He looked down as he muttered. "Black lace, and from what I've gathered, very good." She pressed her hands to her burning face.

"Oh my god..." He frowned.

"I don't know what you're embarrassed about, those measurements are perceived in the western world to be better than that of even Irene Adler herself, and there's-"

"Stop talking, please." She took her hands from her face. "And furthermore, how do you know my measurements?"

"Well, when you wear fitted things, it's easy for intelligent people to visualise what you look like-" His last word was drowned out by the beeping of a car horn outside the flat.

"That's my lift." She said, and then looked to him. "And no more visualising me naked, alright?" His eyes widen.

"I-"

"See you later!" She said with a smile and a wave, and left the flat. He exhaled, and leaned against the wall, sinking slightly, mulling over the disaster that had just occured, and wondering how much of an idiot he actually was.

Ramona found a scarlet Ferrari parked outside the flat. A few tourists came out of the cafe and stopped, looking at her and the car she was about to get in, and whispering amongst themselves, hopefully in admiration. She smiled at them, and the girl toddler with them audibly gasped, her eyes widening. She tried to open the door, but it opened vertically, and she rolled her eyes. She got into the low car easily, and the door closed again.

Kain was smiling, looking in the rear view mirror at the group of tourists. He laughed suddenly.

"What is it?" He looked to her with a smile.

"That girl-" He got into gear and expertly reversed, before driving down the street. "Just asked if you were a princess." Her eyes widened and she looked back, but they were already out of sight. She huffed and leaned back, her arms crossed.

"Why'd you have such a flashy car in the first place?" He chuckled, driving through the city. She noticed he was wearing an all black suit, with even a midnight coloured tie.

"You've got to be the most unladylike princess I've ever come across, however." She rolled her eyes, but bit back a smile, turning on the radio.

"Just drive."

"Yes ma'am." Why was it that when she was with him, she could still only think of the man that had taught her to dance, only a few hours ago? Why could she still feel his face against her lips, and his fingers inbetween hers?

* * *

"Nice." the photographer states, as he takes a photograph of Molly and Tom.

He moves on to the next nearest couple, who are Mrs Hudson and Mr Chatterjee from the sandwich shop. Apparently the woman with the huge hat had forgiven him for already having two wives. She smiles happily for the camera; He doesn't look quite so happy, shall we say. The photographer turns and takes several pictures of Greg sitting at a table and drinking. Greg, looking a little glum, raises his glass to him and gives a small smile, which actually just made the image even more depressing.

Ramona was watching the photographer on her own, as Kain, a man who looked extremely imposing from all the light colours of the wedding, approached her, carrying two champagne glasses. He hands one to her, and she takes it. Her nails are painted not in the usual black, but this time professionally done, a nude colour upon them.

"How many weddings have you been to, Kain?" He smiled.

"One."

"Including this?" He nodded, and they both laughed. Suddenly, a camera approached them, and before she had time to tell him she didn't want her picture taken, he put an arm around her and kissed her temple, causing her to look shocked as the shutter closed. The photographer chuckled.

"That's one you'll want printed out." Kain looked smug as he left.

"Mm, yes, sexual harassment, really one for the books!" She remarked sarcastically, but they then both laughed. Sherlock watched from a short distance away, next to Janine, and tightened his jaw. Janine looks admiringly at the waiter as he walks past.

**Sherlock**

"He's nice." Sherlock couldn't help thinking that perhaps he was invisible to the female gender. Although he didn't necessarily want Janine's attention, the way she looked at other men whilst standing right next to him irritated him, probably because it was a reflection of Ramona, to a certain extent. He sniffs deeply.

"Traces of two leading brands of deodorant, both advertised for their strength, suggestive of a chronic body odour problem manifesting under stress."

"Okay, done there. What about his friend?"He follows her gaze into the kitchen, where another waiter is pulling the skewer out from the middle of a large joint of roast beef.

"Long-term relationship, compulsive cheat." He says quickly.

"Seriously?" She exclaims in disbelief.

"Waterproof cover on his smartphone. Yet his complexion doesn't indicate outdoor work. Suggests he's in the habit of taking his phone into the shower with him, which means he often receives texts and emails he'd rather went unseen." She looks up admiringly at him.

"Can I keep you?"

"D'you like solving crimes?" He asks.

"Do you have a vacancy?" She quizzes.

Sherlock's eyes dart to Ramona, champagne glass in hand, laughing in a group with Kain, Molly, and Tom.

"...No." He mutters quietly.

"Sorry?" He snaps out of it.

"Hm? Oh, nothing." He bites his lip. _Do I have a vacancy?_

* * *

**And so the wedding starts! **

**I had a really hard time describing that dress, so if you couldn't get a clear picture of it, or are just curious, google 'John zack plunge neck front lace maxi dress' and it's the navy one on images, it really is a gorgeous dress anyway lol**

**Thanks so much for reading and reviewing! **


	30. Promises

**Promises - Nero**

* * *

Fast-forward a three course meal and a considerable amount of champagne, and Ramona finds herself sat on a table with 'Hannah', Harry, Molly, Tom, Greg and Kain. She sits in between Molly on her right, Kain on her left, facing the front table. The head waiter taps a spoon against a glass.

"Pray silence for the best man." Ramona smiles and puts an elbow on the table, and rests her chin in her hand, expectant for what Sherlock had been keeping a secret from even her.

Sherlock starts his speech, which delighted everyone in the room. Kain sat the whole way through with a raised eyebrow, but not an expression so foul as to let anyone notice. And then, it got interesting. After talking about the mysterious stabbing of a grenadier, he turns to the congregation.

"Come on, come on, there is actually an element of Q and A to all of this." He clears his throat, and the audience remain silent. "Scotland Yard." Greg looks up. "Have you got a theory? You're a detective– broadly speaking. Got a theory?"

"Er, um, if the, uh, if the, if-if-if, if the blade was, er, propelled through the, um ... grating in the air vent ... maybe a-a ballista or a– or a– or a catapult. Erm, somebody tiny could-could crawl in there. So, yeah, we're loo... we're looking for a-a-a-a dwarf." Sherlock returns a blank look.

"Brilliant."

"Really?"

"No." He replies, instantly. Ramona bites back a laugh and crosses her legs, even though she's no better.

"Next!"

"He stabbed himself." Tom whispered to Molly. Ramona arched an eyebrow and turned to him, leaning back and actually sitting properly now, curious as to see what would happen.

"Hello? Who was that? Tom." Tom gets up with a grimace, and Ramona has to pinch her nose to not burst out laughing at his priceless expression. "Got a theory?" Tom shifts his weight to either foot, looking uneasy.

"Um... attempted suicide, with a blade made of compacted blood and bone; broke after piercing his abdomen... like a meat... dagger." At this, Ramona is thankful that she was pinching her nose, as she begins shuddering with silent laughter, and even feels her ears pop from the force.

"A meat dagger." Sherlock repeats in disbelief. She screws her eyes shut and wills herself not to start guffawing.

"Yes." Tom says awkwardly.

"Sit. Down." Molly hisses.

"No." Sherlock says. This makes her need to laugh even more, and Kain notices this, smiling as the woman looks away from the couple and bends over slightly, feeling she would burst at any moment.

"What about you?" She looks up, and realises everyone, including Sherlock, was looking at her. She unpinches her nose, and still wrestling down a laughing fit, sits up straight, and feels that if she talked she would burst out in laughter. "Well?" His voice was bemused.

"Uhm," She laughed slightly, still finding the whole thing very funny, as she saw Sherlock also trying to bite back a laugh. "Me?" She said, her nostrils flaring slightly at the attempts not to burst out into mirth.

"Yeah, You." She takes a deep breath, and composes herself and her mind. "Got a theory of your own?"

"Well, I wouldn't say I have a _theory _as such, but... I've got an interesting idea." Everyone collectively raised an eyebrow at the woman that was still cruelly sniggering at the two now humiliated men.

"Be my guest." He said. She paused, as she put her mind into the fastest gear, imagining the paused scenario, at the exact moment the soldier is found in the shower, water running red. Ramona comes out of her analysis and back to the present.

"Well, if we're ruling out the where and the who, as no one could have gotten in the shower with him," She glanced at Lestrade. "And we're taking away the possibility of a disappearing what," A glance towards Tom and his 'meat dagger' which made the sides of her mouth twitch into a smile. "Then we're left with the when, aren't we?" Everyone looked confused.

"The when?"

"Perhaps he got the injury at another point in the timeline." She reasoned. His eyes widened slightly, as did everyone else in the room.

"How would that happen?" She shrugged, making it clear she was casual in her thinking.

"I dunno, you're the detective, aren't you?" His attempt to embarrass her had backfired. He raised an eyebrow, and got back on with his speech. Kain smiled with his amber eyes, winking at her.

Further on in the speech, Sherlock starts talking about Johns middle name. Suddenly, Ramona remembers something. On the chat that day, the woman named Tessa had said 'enjoy the wedding.' And when Sherlock had been reciting everything that happened that night to her, he said she had introduced them as 'Sherlock Holmes and John Hamish Watson.' How did she know about his middle name AND the wedding? The only answer was something that made her almost drop her glass as they went to toast. And then, Sherlock dropped his.

"Here today." He murmured, but Ramona read her lips. She congratulated herself at working at his level.

"And down again." He gestures for everyone to sit down, and they do, murmuring to themselves.

"What's going on?" Kain muttered to her.

"The Mayfly Man." She looked up at him. "I really hope it's not you, because we're about to find out who it is." His eyes widen, and go to Sherlock.

"Ladies and gentlemen, people tell you not to milk a good speech– get off early, leave 'em laughing. Wise advice I'll certainly try to bear in mind. But for now..." He puts one hand on the table and quickly jumps over to the other side. The guests gasp in surprise. She smiles, feeling the thrill of everything he brought to the table light her up.

"Part two." She says, and realises she's the only one still stood up. Everyone looks at her and she sits down, although not in the least embarrassed. He smiles.

"Part two is more action-based. I'm gonna ... walk around, shake things up a bit. Who'd go to a wedding? That's the question. Who would bother to go to any lengths to get themselves to a wedding?" Two thirds of the way along the room he turns around.

"Well, everyone." He claps his hands together. "Weddings are great! Love a wedding. And John's great, too! Haven't said that enough. Barely scratched the surface. I could go on all night about the depth and complexity of his... Jumpers..." John closes his eyes in disbelief. "Ahh, too many, too many, too many, too many!" This was Sherlock in his element. He grimaces angrily. "Sorry. Too many jokes about John! Now, er... Where was I?"

"Speech." She says.

" Speech! Let's talk about..." Suddenly, she realises that the Mayfly Man is far from an innocent man looking to get his fill with a random collection of women. It was criminal intent to be sure, and all the signs led to-

"Murder!" Ramona half shouts, and gets up, now excited. Everyone looks at her again, and she sees Mary sigh, and John hide his face.

"Sorry, did I say 'murder'?" She laughs uneasily, and some of the guests start to think that the woman in the navy dress was insane, or at least half-mad. "Just think about the..." She looks around, and tags all the men in the room. "Traffic." She looked at Sherlock, her words meaning something else to him. "It's murder on a Saturday."

"If we've got anything to do with it however, we may be able to avoid that." Sherlock says, making eye contact. Ramona sits back down, embarrassed.

"Janine!" Sherlock cries. Ramona turns around, confused.

"What about this one? Acceptably hot?" He grins at this 'Janine', then looks at the woman sitting beside the man. "More importantly, his girlfriend's wearing brand-new uncomfortable underwear... And he hasn't bothered to pick this thread off the top of his jacket... Or point out the grease smudge on the back of his neck. Currently, he's going home alone." She smirked, and leaned across Kain to Greg, typing something in the notes section of her phone. She showed what she had quickly written to the only official detective in the room.

**Lock it down. **

Greg nods, gets up and leaves.

"Also, he's a comics and sci-fi geek. They're always tremendously grateful – really put the hours in." He chuckles, and looks to Ramona with a certain knowing expression, whom he knew was a comics geek herself. She widened her eyes in outrage at his brash statement, and struggled not to go red or giggle like a schoolgirl.

Having taken care of the building, She begins to text John, and shares a knowing look with Sherlock.

**Vatican Cameos, The Mayfly's here. Don't solve the case, save the life, Dr Watson. **

John straightens up, and shows the text to Mary.

"Let's play a game." He stares into the room intensely. "Let's play Murder." Sherlock prowls forward, his eyes flickering around the room at the guests.

"Sherlock." Mrs Hudson says disapprovingly.

"Imagine someone's going to get murdered at a wedding. Who exactly would you pick?" Sherlock steeples his hands under his chin as he moves.

"I think you're a popular choice at the moment, dear." Ramona snorts.

"If someone could move Mrs Hudson's glass just slightly out of reach, that would be lovely." He gestured to her without looking. "More importantly, who could you only kill at a wedding? Most people you can kill any old place. As a mental exercise, I've often planned the murder of friends and colleagues. Now John I'd poison." She nodded approvingly. "Sloppy eater – dead easy. I've given him chemicals and compounds – that way, he's never even noticed. He missed a whole Wednesday once, didn't have a clue. Lestrade's so easy to kill, it's a miracle no-one's succumbed to the temptation." He turns again. "I've got a pair of keys to my brother's house – I could easily break in there and asphyxiate him." He looked to her and opened his mouth as if to speak, and then snapped it shut "If, if the whim arose."

"He's pissed, isn't he?" Tom whispered to Molly. Without even looking round at him, Molly stabs a plastic fork onto the back of his hand. Ramona struggled not to laugh at the comic relief he was providing with his stupidity.

"So, once again, who could you only kill here? Clearly it's a rare opportunity, so it's someone who doesn't get out much. Someone for whom a planned social encounter known about months in advance is an exception. Has to be a unique opportunity. "And since killing someone in public is difficult... killing them in private isn't an option. Someone who lives in an inaccessible or unknown location, then. Someone private, perhaps, obsessed with personal security." It was major Sholto he was walking towards. "Possibly someone under threat."

"Oh my god." Ramona says, and everyone on the table looks at her. She refuses to look at Hannah.

"The invisible man with the invisible knife. The one who tried to kill the Guardsman." A little boy says as she comes out of her thought train. Her eyes widen to an extreme size, and she gasps in unison with Sherlock. Everything suddenly made sense. She looked to Sholto, to see there was no one in his seat.

"The boy's a genius!" She hissed, getting up.

* * *

"How can you not remember which room? You remember everything." John remarked at the bottom of the stairs.

"I have to delete something!" Mary runs around the corner and runs up the stairs in between them, holding her skirt up with one hand to stop herself tripping over it.

"Two oh seven." They three of them begin running, Sherlock and Ramona instantly overtaking Mary, however Sherlock ends up getting there faster because of Ramona's constricting dress.

"Major Sholto? Major Sholto!" He rattles the door handle. "Major Sholto!"

"If someone's about to make an attempt on my life, it won't be the first time. I'm ready."

Ramona gets out a lock picking kit from her purse, as Sherlock shakes out his hand and steps back from the door.

"Major, let us in."

"Kick the door down." Says Mary.

"I really wouldn't. I have a gun in my hand and a lifetime of unfortunate reflexes." Sholto's voice is heard from behind the door. Ramona froze and Sherlock came closer to the door again.

"You're not safe in there. Whoever's after you, we know that a locked room doesn't stop him."

"The invisible man with the invisible knife."

"I don't know how he does it, so I can't stop him, and that means he'll do it again." Sherlock says.

"Solve it, then."

"I – I'm sorry?"

"You're the famous Mr Holmes. Solve the case. On you go." Sherlock shares a look with Ramona, and they both straighten up.

"Tell me how he did it and I'll open the door." John steps forward.

"Please, this is no time for games. Just let us in! You're in danger!"

" So are you, so long as you're here." Sherlock starts to pace on the landing.

"Please, leave me. Despite my reputation, I really don't approve of collateral damage."

"Solve it." Mary says to Sherlock, he stops and looks up.

"Sorry?"

"Solve it, and he'll open the door, like he said."

"If I couldn't solve it before, how can I solve it now?"

"Because it matters now."

"What are you talking about?" Sherlock looks at John. "What's she talking about? Get your wife under control."Ramona rolls her eyes.

"No, she's right."

"You _would _say that, wouldn't you?"

"No, she is." John backs the women up. "Shut up. You are not a puzzle-solver, you never have been. You're a drama queen." His mouth drops open and he looks to John and then to Ramona, for support that he wouldn't get. "Now, there is a man in there about to die. 'The game is on.'" He then turned his angry tone at Ramona. "Solve it!" Her eyes widen, and then she puts one her left hand to a face that turns serene. Sherlock is now in full deduction mode, his eyes shut and concentrated inside.

"What you said about when." He says, his eyes still closed. Since when had he talked to anyone while he was in his mind palace?

"Exactly, although it makes no sense as to how." She pauses. "However what links Sholto and the previous victim-"

"Something-" He opens his eyes, and Ramona gasps.

"Though, in fairness, he's a drama queen too." Sherlock says to Mary.

"Yeah, I know." She agrees, and John frowns.

"Sholto, I'm afraid you've already sustained a fatal injury." Ramona says through the door.

"What did you say?"

"Don't take off your belt." Sherlock finishes.

* * *

"One, two, three," Ramona watched Sherlock dance with Janine in the wedding reception foyer from a distance with a look of complete serenity. However, if you knew her, you'd know that if you saw that face from her, it was probably the last thing you'd see before she brutally murdered you. Something past a furious expression, a whole other level of anger.

"So it was in the belt?" Kain's voice.

"Yep. Well, _on _the belt." He gave her an exasperated look. "One of the most interesting things I've seen in a long time, actually." She remarked, trying to take her mind off his expression when he danced with her. He looked actually happy. Had he looked like that when they had danced? She cursed herself for not looking up. She watched Sherlock lean in and murmur something to her, and then how they both laughed. She tightened a small fist.

John motions for the pair to join him. The three quickly spot Janine and Sherlock and approach them.

"Well, Its lovely to see what a _great _time you're having, considering a man was almost murdered here only a few hours ago." Her venom was masked with a coating that suggested she was joking around. Sherlock gave a micro expression of confusion that only she could see, before letting the emotion leave.

Sherlock handcuffs the photographer, one to his wrist and the other to a nearby birdcage trolley. Ramona stood, irritated that she had been beaten to the best bit.

"Brilliant, ruthless, almost definitely a monomaniac-" He paused.

"It was extremely clever. All the time in the world for an alibi, when you're already halfway down the M1 at the time of death." She says, looking through the photos on the camera. "Although, these photos are actually alright." Kain raises an amused eyebrow. "I'd recommend him to a friend, except attempted murder- sort of spoils a wedding a bit, wouldn't you say?" Sherlock smirks at her words, and Janine looks up at him.

"Everything you need's on that." Sherlock tosses Greg his phone. "You should probably arrest him or something." Mary comes into view, and hurries to stand beside John. Janine leans closer to Sherlock, and speaks quietly.

"Do you always carry handcuffs?" Ramona hears this and her eyes widen, and she doesn't know whether to tear her apart or laugh.

She turns around to look at the two, Sherlock about to reply, and raises her eyebrows in a 'really?' sort of way.

"They're a part of the job, not a toy." Her voice had a completely unhidden tone of rage in it, causing Sherlock to widen his eyes in shock, at an expression he had never seen on her face before, contorting her features.

* * *

Sherlock serenades the happy couple and the audience, and Ramona can't help but watch him play, instead of watch the newlyweds dance. He swayed slightly as he played, his mind going to a state of complete concentration. She found herself entranced as his hands moved over the violin with such a delicate precision.

John dips Mary and she gasps in disbelief, and he kisses her as the tune ends. Everyone begins to clap and Ramona looks up at Sherlock, to find that he was instead looking at Janine. A pang goes straight through her as he goes to the music stand in front of him and throws the flower he had been wearing in his buttonhole to Janine. She catches it and grins back at him. Ramona can feel herself being held in an iron grip, twisting at her stomach so that she instinctively gritted her teeth. She hadn't felt this way for a while, but the feeling was distinctive. It was envy.

She realises Sherlock has been talking as she went over that moment many times in her head, so she tunes back into reality. Everybody begins to dance, and she remembers how Kain hates to dance, sober, anyways. However, he starts to slightly sway as they're engulfed by the sea of dancing guests.

"You don't have to." He smiles and takes her hands.

"I want to." She laughed at the insincerity of his tone.

"Please." Ramona replied incredulously. He let out a slight chuckle.

"Fine." He stated. "I'm going to go to the toilet, have a few drinks, and be king of the dancefloor before you can say drunk dad dancing." She chuckled, although she had never seen him dad dance. She watched him leave, and felt out of place for a second. She knew that he'd be gone for a while.

Ramona looks around, just in time to see the end of a coat escaping through a closing door. She frowns and pushes through the crowd, towards the exit.

* * *

"It's rude to leave a wedding early, y'know." Sherlock, who had been walking slowly, with his collar turned up, froze, and then turned around to face the woman standing behind him. She had just caught up with him after he had turned a corner, and they were now completely hidden from view. He looked so alone in that moment, even though he had been surrounded by people only moments ago.

"Ramona..." His voice trailed off, searching for something smart to say. Ramona approached him, and saw how forlorn his expression was.

"No ones going to abandon you, Sherlock." His mouth parts in surprise. The silence of the outside and the roar of the music from the reception left a buzz in the cold, dark air around them, so that they got echos of the fast music.

"I don't think that." He says, his tone starting slowly and ending up defensive.

"Why are you afraid of it then?" His brow creases in an expression of turmoil.

"Everyone was dancing together-" He seems to cut himself off, and then give into what he truly wanted to say. "It seemed like everyone had forgotten about me, or had someone else..." She took another step towards him, cutting the distance between them. The song changed to one she thought was distinctive, heart wrenching, and slow.

"You once said that being alone protected you." She takes his hands from his sides in hers to his shock, and brings them together. They feel heavy in her hands, but he doesn't pull them away. "But even if that's what you think," She didn't know what she was doing or saying, but it seemed there was no filter from feeling to saying. "I'll never leave you." His eyes widened. "Even if you push me away, or you give up on me," She looked up into his wide eyes, masked by the dark of the night. "I'll always protect you." He swallowed, and went into a state of shock. The words felt natural to her, as if they had been on her tongue for years, just waiting for her to finally say them.

At that moment, Ramona saw his usually sharp blue eyes were softening, and beginning to fill with tears involuntarily. Without warning, he slowly pulled her into his chest. It took her by surprise for a second, but she then smiled slightly, closing her eyes and wrapping her arms around the troubled man's neck, savoring the moment for all it was worth. Then it came to her that he was shuddering ever so slightly. She frowned and went to pull out to make sure he was okay, but he wouldn't let her. And then it hit her.

He was holding her like that so that she wouldn't see him in a state so undone. A pang ran down her, and she finally knew just how much feeling the detective was forever suppressing. All those thoughts that his powerful mind had, with no one to tell them to. she gritted her teeth as he put his arms around her waist. And then she realised they were swaying to the song being echoed to them. She felt desperate to cheer him up.

"Promise me." An almost whisper into her ear that would've made her jump had it not been the most heartfelt voice she had heard from Sherlock. He relaxed his vice of a grip, so that she could speak without being muffled.

Ramona looked up at him, his expression one of a man that had gone out on a limb, and left himself vulnerable. She saw something in his eyes that indicated how lonely he truly felt, how lost in this world he was. It broke her heart, and made her feel she had failed him. She hadn't managed to get to the core of him until now, to see his deepest fears. It made her afraid that there was more untapped terror in him, more uncertainties and insecurities she couldn't make better.

"I promise." He took a moment, and then in a speed she had never seen, leaned down hugged her tighter than ever, his head over her shoulder. At that moment, Ramona felt like driftwood being clung onto by a desperate, drowning man. Her desperate, drowning man.

* * *

**The tables are starting to turn, for once Ramona's the jealous one!**

**I hope the fluff makes up for the anger inducing last couple of chapters :)**

**Thank you for reading, and even more love for reviewing! **


	31. Post Break-Up Sex

**Post Break-Up Sex - The Vaccines**

**I own nothing but my oc's!**

* * *

Before she knew it, Ramona was back in the reception room, Sherlock now having fun with Janine on the crowded dancefloor.

She had saved him, so why did she feel so deeply unsatisfied? Ramona was sat at an empty, or abandoned table next to the crowd of bad dancers.

How could she be sure it had ever happened? All she had were memories, but how did she know that was what they were? He now looked fine as he grinned back at the Irish woman.

The Irish woman in question was a woman Ramona had decided she found wholly disagreeable. It wasn't because she had done anything to her, but the way she looked at Sherlock made her skin crawl. She found herself absentmindedly grinding her teeth just looking at the woman, even though she was probably a nice person.

She turned to an approaching Kain, who had been laughing with a group of men. He brought with him a glass of vodka and coke for her, and something else for himself.

"Enjoying yourself?" He asks, passing it to her.

"Everyone loves a wedding." She said, with a hint of sarcasm in her voice.

"Such a pessimist, even somewhere like this?" She wanted to tell him why, but she didn't have the heart. She wanted to scream in his face that she only felt physical attraction towards him, and wanted nothing more than to get in his pants. Was that such a bad thing for a man like him to hear?

She shrugged in response.

"It's a free bar innit?" Her old ways of speaking were beginning to come back to her, as she became more intoxicated. He nods amusedly.

* * *

"You make a greaaat drinkin' buddy." She slurred, pointing a finger into his lower chest. He chuckled drunkenly.

"You got better at it." His words were as slurred as hers. She noticed Sherlock still on the dancefloor with Janine, and rolled her eyes hugely, huffing in annoyance. The floor was still busy, people continuing dancing and getting worse, or better, as they became collectively more drunk.

"Come on." There was a pop tune playing, and people were dancing happily. She led him over by his tie as he laughed in delight.

They began dancing, the lights and the haze blurring most things that weren't right in front of her. The pair talked and laughed with some complete strangers, ending up having a better time than expected.

Ramona checked her watch and had to squint to focus the time. Seeing that it was four am, and people were starting to leave, she said goodbye to the complete strangers she had been having a great time with, and went upstairs.

As she got to the stairs, she stumbled slightly and leaned on the railing for support, before swinging around and sitting on the step, giggling hysterically to herself.

"Whas so funny?" Kains voice. She shook her head, still grinning. "Whazzit?" He said, starting to laugh himself.

"Nothin', nothin'." She got up and almost fell again, before he grabbed her arm. They both laughed as they staggered up the stairs to her room.

She then turned around at the door.

"See ya later then." She turned to try the key on the door, and after a few wobbly attempts, found it wasn't the right key. She frowned in confusion.

"Thas n'gonna work."He said.

"Why not?"

"Cos it's my room." He started to laugh, and so did she. However, the tone was beginning to get serious. "D'you wanna come in?" She thought for a second, her thoughts blurred by alcohol. And then, she shrugged, before stepping aside.

"Yeah." He smirked triumphantly, getting his key and unlocking the door. "Yeah, I don't see why not." She said, a mischievous grin on her face, only thinking of the reaction she'd get out of Sherlock, not what she was about to do.

* * *

Ramona woke up peacefully. Drifting in and out of consciousness, trying to recollect the last evening, what had felt like a great wedding. She turned happily, and almost jumped out of bed when she saw Kain's sleeping face right next to her.

Her mouth dropped open and she silently screamed, before getting out of bed, wearing only her underwear. She saw her dress lying on the floor next to the bed, next to his trousers. She felt disgusting and as if she had been used by her drunk self.

She got on her dress, picked up her heels and purse, and before checking her appearance in the mirror, which apart from no makeup and a slightly dazed look in her eyes, looked okay. She sneaked out of the room, closing the door gently behind her. Ramona's heart felt heavy as she realised what she had done, how she had disappointed herself in one reaction hungry moment.

Checking the coast and the room number, she began jogging down the hallway. It was still early, so surely she'd be able to get to her room without seeing anyone?

She came to a crossroads in the hallway, and suddenly heard familiar voices. At this, she stuck her back to the wall and hoped they'd walk right past her.

And then she figured out who it was. Sherlock and Janine. It just _had _to be them, didn't it?

"-Baker street, you should come over after this."

"D'you want my number?"

"Yeah, tell me it and I'll text you later on." Her mouth parted and her brow creased in outrage at the thought of Sherlock getting a woman's number. The voices were getting closer, her heartbeat faster.

"Gotta love that photographic memory, eh?" Getting too close. What would Sherlock think if he saw her?

"So, what do you work as?" They walked past her, and she felt herself slump in relief.

"You already know, so why ask?"

Just as she started walking, Sherlock dropped his keys. He turned around to pick them up, and she froze like a deer caught in headlights.

His mouth dropped open. Janine turned around at his expression, and raised her eyebrows in surprise, letting out a light laugh. Ramona's expression was one of complete shock and an uneasy, awakward smile on her mouth.

"Janine. Sherlock." She nodded to them, her voice more hoarse than expected. She caught an expression from Sherlock, of complete and utter dismay and disappointment.

"Have fun?" His voice was completely monotone, quietly seething with rage. She looked up and laughed uneasily.

"Er, I don't know actually, but you know, guess it's the french in me," She was completely done for. "Or maybe the Irish!" Another awkward, forced laugh. And then wide eyes as she saw Janine's expression. "Oh, god, no! I'm, not saying that you're slutty or anything-" She was digging a deeper grave as Janine crossed her arms, an amused look on her face, one raised eyebrow. "Or that you like a drink, cos' I know I definitely do, probably even more than you-"

"That'll be enough, thank you." Sherlock butted in, his expression utterly void of any humour. "Come on." He said to Janine, before turning on his heel and pacing away from her.

She stood there, before pacing to her room, and taking a thorough shower.

* * *

Ramona stood outside the breakfast room, where some of the wedding guests were eating, including Sherlock and Janine sat at a table near a window on their own. Watching them, she knew she'd never have the guts to go in by herself in a million years, that much was certain.

"Hello." A voice from behind her. She froze and could have been swallowed by the ground at that moment. "What, don't tell me you're being shy." She closed her eyes and gently headbutted the wall.

"I wouldn't mind dying right now."

"What a lovely way to greet me." She turned to him. "You're not actually embarrassed, are you?"

"You wouldn't understand-"

"I wouldn't?" He was wearing expensive jogging bottoms and a white top. "Because it seems to me that we're all adults, surely?" She felt truth at this. Why should she be ashamed for what she chose to do?

"But-" She sighed. "I've disappointed someone."

"Yourself, or that Sherlock Holmes?" Another sigh, as she went to look inside again. Sherlock's expression was still stony, as he looked out of the window, as if plotting murder. She grimaced in fear.

"Both." He chuckled, putting an arm around her shoulder.

"I don't think disappointed would describe what he's probably feeling right now." He said, leading a reluctant Ramona into the breakfast room. Sherlock turned his gaze to them, and glared at both of them ferociously. She almost whimpered under the force of his murderous eyes.

They sat down on the other side of the airy room to the other pair. Ramona stared down at the croissant she knew she didn't want.

"Not eating?" Kain asks, taking a bite of some toast.

"I feel physically ill." She muttered. He raised an eyebrow, and she looked up. "No offence, but I swore I'd never again, even if you were the last man on the earth." He chuckled.

"Can't say I blame you." She let out a moan of complete sadness.

"I'll never be able to hold my head up again." He laughed.

"It's only a one night stand." She cringed. "Happens all the time, not something to be embarrassed about." He shrugged. "Especially if it's with someone like me." She rolled her eyes.

"So what happens now?" He raised his eyebrows. She was surprised that she actually felt no awkwardness between the two of them, even after what had happened.

"Whatever you like, I suppose." She thought for a second. What could be the harm, especially after what had happened? Her love life wasn't anything she took too seriously, plus, it seemed she could be as casual as she liked with him.

"Let's just..." She began. "We could just..." _Is this really what I want?_ She looked over, and saw Sherlock laughing with Janine, as she put her hand over his. Her blood ran cold, and she turned to him. "Let's have a strictly physical relationship." His eyes widened.

"What?" She shrugged, spurned by jealousy.

"We'll just keep it casual, not change our relationship status, keep it lowkey-"

"But still-"

"Are you saying you don't want it?" He paused, before grinning.

* * *

Ramona lay in the flat, on the sofa. Sherlock still hadn't come home, and it had been two hours since she had been dropped off.

He still hadn't come home by five, by the time she started making dinner. Worry got the best of her, and she decided to text him.

**Where are you? **

Three words, but they were hard to send. Normally, Sherlock replied instantly to anything, sent by anyone. She waited half an hour, before double texting. Sherlock had his read receipts turned off, which made things even worse. This may have made her seem obsessed, but half an hour for Sherlock was long enough to put him on the missing person's list.

**Sherlock?**

Still nothing, after an hour. At this point, she was becoming nervous. What if he'd been kidnapped? Or he'd been murdered? Or was being held hostage? Once again, suggestive thoughts got the worst of her.

For the first time, she rang him. She tapped her foot as it got to the fourth ring, and it was picked up.

"What is it?" A baritone sentence that was snapped, but still flooded her with relief.

"Sherlock?"

"It's obviously going to be me, since you did after all ring _my_ number. Now what do you want?" He sounded very annoyed.

"You didn't reply to my texts, and-" She was feeling very subdued.

"Did it occur to you that perhaps I had more important things to do?" She bit her lip. "The world doesn't actually revolve around you, contrary to your belief." He was being extremely mean, and she could picture the snarl on his face, as she flinched, even from over the phone.

"Sorry, I just got worried, cos you always reply quickly, I thought something might've happened." She bit her lip at the silence down the end of the phone. "What time do you think you'll be home? I'll make you something if you want." A second pause.

"That won't be necessary." She notes how he dodged her question.

"Are you not hungry?"

"I've already had dinner." He paused, and she heard a woman's laugh. Her heart sunk. "I think you can make a deduction as to where." Ramona swallowed.

"O-oh, okay." Why did she feel like she was about to cry with frustration? "Do you need me to bring anything over to you, if you're staying the night?"

"I'll be home soon, okay?" He sounded exasperated, as if she was a child who wouldn't stop crying.

"Alright." She paused. "See you-" The phone disconnected with a click. "Later." She put down her phone, and almost started to sob, feeling absolutely pathetic.

Wrapped in her white fluffy blanket in her chair, watching the television and eating a lot of chocolate, Ramona was starting to feel a bit better. When she thought about it, things couldn't get any worse really, could they? However, she couldn't even begin to imagine his reaction when he found out about her and Kain's little arrangement. She moans and pulls the blanket up over her head for a second, waiting for the waves of embarrassment to pass.

At this, she hears a taxi pull up, and someone get out. There's then footsteps up the stairs, and the door is opened. Sherlock stands in the doorway for a second, before spotting her, and without a word, heads to his bedroom. She feels awful.

"Sherlock?" He stops, sighs, and turns around.

"Yeah?" He practically growls.

"Are you going to have a shower? You can go first if you want." His face was still so angry.

"I'll have one tomorrow morning." He turns around and opened his bedroom door. "Don't speak to me for at least eight hours, Ramona." He remarks, spitting her name, before slamming the door behind him. Her face fell.

* * *

She woke up in her bed, light flooding the room. Ramona was already wide awake, so got up and padded to the kitchen. Sherlock was sat at the living room table, his social crutch of a newspaper hiding his face. Mrs Hudson tried to brighten the obviously heavy mood.

"Have a good time at the wedding, love?" Ramona decided to take it easy on her.

"Yeah, thanks, I had a brilliant time." Sherlock's newspaper flies down and he glares at her in such a way that if looks could kill she'd of died an extremely painful death. "W-well, I mean," She backtracked. "It was alright, I personally had an okay time, if even that." His stare of death didn't budge, and she looks down at her food, checking for any traces of poison. "Actually, awful time, very boring for me, hated every excruciating second of the thing." Mrs Hudson frowned. She then said something about having to go that Ramona didn't really pay attention to, before actually leaving.

The silence in the flat is intense, and felt like something solid in the air. There was a huge elephant in the room, that was growing as the silent seconds unbearably tick away.

"So, got any plans?"

"Not in particular, no."

"O-okay." She feels ridiculously nervous, before taking a deep breath. "Listen, if it's about the wedding night-"

"I'm not angry." He states, in a matter of fact way. "I don't have anything to do with your personal affairs, especially not who you choose to _sleep_ with." She chewed her lip.

"What is it, then?" He put down the paper and folded it.

"Nothing." He states, causing her to roll her eyes, suddenly angry.

"Right." She puts a hand through her hair. "I'm going out."

Ramona decides she would use the time to stitch things up with 'Hannah'. The best course of action was to not tell her what she knew, but instead say she had been feeling low for some reason. After this, she simply wandered around the shops, trying to figure Sherlock out. They had seemed the epitome of close after the promise had been made, but the morning after, he was even colder than usual. At this rate, how would she protect him? _One step forward, two steps back._

Ramona opened a book, reading the first page to see if it was worth it, in an old bookshop which seemed as if it had existed before the city.

_Maybe it's Janine. Could she have said something to Sherlock to make him like this?_ Her hand tightened around the book. She had to bridge the once again huge gap between them, but she wasn't going to apologise for something she was doing that had nothing to do with him. Then it came to her.

_What if he's simply nervous, or preoccupied with his first ever proper relationship?_ _Is he unsure of what to do or say to Janine?_ She smiled down at the book, deciding she'd buy it. Ramona knew exactly what she was going to do to help.

* * *

**When bae's angry at you 0_0**

**Thanks a million for reading my rambling! Reviews motivate me to write, and so result in quicker updates! **


	32. Digsy's Dinner

**Digsy's Dinner - Oasis**

* * *

"A practice date?" Sherlock repeated incredulously. She shrugged, turning the page of the book she had bought yesterday.

"So that you don't embarrass yourself in front of 'Janine'" She made air quotes with her fingers sarcastically. "Or whoever." There was a moment of thought, and then a sharp intake of breath.

"I could just Google it."

"Or you could get some actual practice under your belt."

"Practical experience _is _always better than theory." She bit back an anticipatory grin.

* * *

Ramona turned around and saw Sherlock stood in the kitchen behind her, in his normal suit and a white shirt. She looked him up and down.

"Eight." She turned back around.

"I- I'm sorry?" He sounded outraged.

"Your appearance is an eight." She turned to face him again and approached. "Not as in you yourself are an eight, as in the effort you've made." He raised an eyebrow.

"What's the reason for it not being a ten?"

"The white shirt looks almost business-like when you wear it like that, my personal favourite is the purple shirt," She shrugged. "And tell me the last time you saw a hairbrush?" He breathed in.

They sat at the table, eating a steak dish Ramona had made, which was surprisingly good, seeing as she very rarely cooked. She tutted suddenly, and he looked up.

"What?"

"Still haven't complimented me." She shook her head in a joking tone, looking up to the clock. He swallowed, obviously having trouble thinking of a compliment. She rolled her eyes and leaned in. "Pretend I'm Janine. I'm a beautiful Irish woman, now tell me what I want to hear." he looked up in what seemed like deep thought, and she almost giggled.

"By today's western standards, you could be perceived as very attractive to a man." She raised her eyebrows. "That is, if beauty was not an abstract conce-"

"Eh-ehhh." She made a sound that sounded like one of those game show sound effects that signaled the contestant had gotten the wrong answer. He slumped. "Tell me something normal." He squints.

"Your eyes are-"

"Nope!" Sherlock frowns in confusion. "There's definitely truth in the whole 'watch your compliments' thing. Obviously don't go for anything that involves these or that," She points to her chest and then her bum, which was seated. "But going for the eyes is dicey. Extremely cliche, every girl's heard it a couple of times." She paused. "Try and find something that isn't something you'd normally compliment, and she'll actually believe you when you tell her, cos it shows you've been thinking about it." He nods. "Now try." Another nod. He leaned in over the table, and studies Ramona's face. He bites his lip, obviously looking very hard for something to comment on. She gave a small open mouthed smile and a slight laugh. He then looked into her eyes.

"You have a beautiful smile." He said in a serious tone, their eyes locking with a stare that gripped her. Her cheeks flushed slightly and she looked away, leaned back and cleared her throat. He leaned back.

"Y-yes, well," She tried to not seem flustered. "That was good, but you obviously cant do that in the middle of a restaurant." He seemed happy with himself after that reaction.

The meal went on, and Ramona actually found that she enjoyed herself, even if Sherlock had brought up a debate as to the different types of maggots found on a dead body. They finished, and she took their plates to the kitchen.

"Are we done, then?" She thought for a second, realising she didn't want it to end.

"I was thinking..." She put the dishes in the sink, and swallowed. Why was she feeling so nervous? "We could watch a film, or something?" She had blurted it out and gone out on a limb, and was now feeling idiotic. _Why would he want to watch a film?_ Especially with her, would he realise what she was thinking? What if-

"Nothing too boring." He remarks, before going to his chair. Ramona's eyes lit up at the sentence that wasn't a flat out rejection, and tried not to look too happy as she went over to the television, and began looking through her DVDs.

"What do you normally watch?" He frowned, trying to remember.

"I don't usually watch anything." This had been a stupid idea.

"I'm guessing nothing like The Notebook, then." He looked confused. She laughed, and waved her hand in dismissal. His rejection of pop culture was something to behold, definitely. "Hmm... Oh!" Sherlock raised an eyebrow.

"Oh?"

"We'll watch my favourite film."

"If it's Batman I swear to-"

"There's nothing wrong with Batman!" She said defensively, putting a DVD in that wasn't of the superhero persuasion. "It's called The Shawshank Redemption." He rolled his eyes. "It's about a man who gets wrongfully imprisoned, it's a classic."

"I really don't see the point in films, or anything fictional." He checked his phone. "Made to induce false emotions-"

"Jesus, are you stuck in your pretentious teenager phase or something? Just watch the movie." He raised his eyebrows.

* * *

She let out a small whimper as it got to the part that always made her cry. Ramona brought her blanket up, so that she was cocooned inside of it. She leaned over the side of the chair so that her face was inches from Sherlock's, who had been resting his elbow on the side nearest her.

"We can turn it off now, if you want." She whispered. He put a finger to her lips, and didn't take his eyes off the screen, leaning forward slightly.

"You wanted me to watch it, that's what I'm doing." She went to get up.

"I'll be going, then." She brought the blanket with her, wrapped around her shoulders like a cloak.

He rolled his eyes as she walked in front of him, and grabbed the blanket, pulling her back so that she was sat on him. Her cheeks flushed and she looked up at him questionably.

"If you're going to be so childish-" He sighed, seeing her expression. He put an arm under her legs and pulled them gently, so that they hung over the side of the chair. The side of her head was now resting on his chest and her shoulders on the other arm of the chair. "Happy?" His voice was less harsh. She nodded timidly, feeling like an idiot. As they stopped moving, she realised she could hear his heart, with her ear to his chest.

His pulse is slightly quicker than normal, despite the fact he had been sat down for almost the entire day. As the familiar scenes leading up to the worst bit, she screwed her eyes shut and turned into his chest, and heard his heart speed up.

It suddenly hit Ramona how comfortable she was. In the warmth of her blanket and Sherlock's body heat, and how surprisingly gentle he was, along with the sound of his heartbeat, she began to drift off.

The credits began to roll, and Sherlock felt fully moved. How was it something that wasn't real made him feel that way?

"Ramona?" He whispered. He placed his hand on her shoulder. "Ramona?" Instead of replying, she nuzzled her face into him, and his eyes widened, before softening. _She'd fallen asleep? Really? _He sighed, realising he was trapped under the unconscious woman. He brushed her hair from her face, and was taken aback by how serene she looked. She always made him feel like this, like everything was good in the world, or it could be, if he just kept his eyes on her. Sherlock smiled lazily, picked up the remote, and switched the television off.

He would eventually carry her back to her room, but there was definitely time for five minutes like this, wasn't there? He closed his eyes with a blissful expression, as their breathing synchronized.

* * *

**A small fluffy chapter for you! **

**Had to take a break from the angst tbh**

**As always, thanks for reading and reviewing! **


	33. Wetsuit

**Wetsuit - The Vaccines**

* * *

"Oh, we have a client." Ramona states, looking out of the window. A very polished woman looking woman, with flowing, long wavy brown hair, that looked as if she had just stepped out of a salon. She was wearing expensive high heels that clicked on the pavement, and designer clothes.

"Look interesting?" Sherlock asked in his chair, not looking away from his laptop.

"It's not an affair, at least." Sherlock's face brightened slightly.

The woman sits on a wooden seat in the flat, facing the ragtag team of two geniuses. Sherlock was stood before her, hands clasped behind his back, with Ramona sat back in his chair, legs crossed.

"What's your name?" Ramona starts.

"Mimi." She has a posh Chelsea accent. Sherlock snorts.

"What sort of a na-" Ramona's eyes widened.

"Alright, _Sherlock._" She put emphasis on his name to imply he was being hypocritical, and then turns back to the woman. "What do you have for us?" Mimi gave a slight glare towards Sherlock, and then began enthusing.

"I've got something up your street." Sherlock raises an interested eyebrow. "My new boyfriend, Adam-"

"The one you're having an affair with." Sherlock states. Her eyes widen.

"How-"

"You're a journalist, he's a salesman who won first prize in a story writing competition, and you were assigned to write about him." Ramona butted in. "It could be straight from a mediocre rom-com, that was, if he wasn't married with a baby son." Her eyes widened.

"Daughter." Sherlock corrects her. Ramona scowled, but was more in awe of his detail.

"Y-yeah..." She looked mesmerized at the two, completely in their element. "It's weird though, it doesn't seem like they're really married."

"Well?" Mimi looked up. "The mystery. The _case._ What is it?"

"One night, we were in bed," Ramona's eyes widened. Was this going to be an explicit mystery? "But I was having trouble sleeping, and he was having a nightmare." Sherlock started to pace, listening carefully. "He was talking in his sleep." _Tell-tale sign of guilt_. "And he said, 'Ghost's Forge'." Ramona frowned momentarily. "The next morning, I asked him what it was, and he said he didn't know." Ramona drummed her fingers, as it had potential. "Later on, it came back to him, said he'd read an article about an unsolved murder." The detectives simultaneously straightened at the two words juxtaposed. "Naturally, being a journalist, I decided to investigate."

"And?" Sherlock presses the woman.

"Turns out, Ghost's Forge is the name of a house in the countryside in between London and Brighton, whose owner, Ezra Carr, lived a lonely life ever since his wife died 20 years previously. He never left the house or saw anyone. Eighteen months ago, a man was walking his dog, and the dog managed to give him the slip. The owner caught up with it in the grounds of the house and noticed a strange sight in a window. It would seem that Ezra Carr died whilst looking out the window. It's unsolved, and it's been put down to burglars, but nothing was stolen." She stopped, and looked to the two detectives, one of which was lost in thought, another looking skeptical.

"So?" Mimi's eyebrows crease. "Where's the case?" Ramona asks.

"Where's the motive?" Mimi asked, and Ramona's eyes widened, internally cursing herself for being so stupid.

"He lived alone, knew no-one, no-one knew him, plus, there had to be loads of expensive stuff inside a house like that." Sherlock's words came out fast, and Ramona could see the cogs quickly turning behind is pale eyes.

"He had no next of kin, and the property has all gone to the state, who've sold it to some property developer, whose doing the place up to sell as flats." Ramona rests her temple on her fist, an elbow on the arm of the chair.

They share a look, and both can tell what the other is thinking.

"We'll take the case." Sherlock declares, with an eager look on his face. Excitement already gets a hold of Ramona.

The Boyfriend, or husband, came to pick Mimi up, but waited outside in his car. She left, and Ramona felt very sorry for the wife and child involved.

* * *

"So we're going tomorrow?" Ramona asks.

"Yep." He pops the 'p' at the end. She would never say how much she loved the sound.

"Got a theory?"

"Five, actually."

"Care to show off?"

"As much as I'd love to, they still need some fine-tuning." Ramona nods. Sherlock was lying on the couch, eyes closed, fingers steepled under his chin. In states of meditation like these, he'd be lost in his mind palace for perhaps hours, replying to no one. That is, except for Ramona. Sherlock liked to imagine her in there with him, helping him to piece puzzles together, only her voice and his own, no one else's.

There's suddenly a knock at the flat door. Ramona frowns.

"Who could that be?" She checks her watch. "It's half eleven!"

"Answer it, could be interesting." Ramona shrugged and got up. She had been sat cross legged on the floor, resting her back on the couch by his knees, reading, and occasionally talking to Sherlock.

She opened the door, to see a woman with short red hair, looking furious. She was around Ramona's age and recently a parent, married. She frowned.

"Are you-" Before she knew what was happening, she was suddenly unable to breath as she screwed her eyes closed and gasped, and felt as if her whole body was being frozen. She opened her eyes in shock.

"What the fuck?!" The woman was stood in front of her, holding a now empty bucket in her hand. Ramona was wet-through from ice cold water.

"That's for sleeping with my husband, you home-wrecker!" She looked at the woman incredulously with wide eyes, before realising what had happened. This is probably the wife of the man Mimi was having an affair with. She must of seen their address somewhere in her husband's things, for when he was picking Mimi up, and had mistook it for the address of his lover.

Sherlock got up, into view of the woman, laughing lightly.

"Oh, and I see you've got another one on the go!" Ramona was still thoroughly shocked from the water. "I bet you're married too!" Sherlock suddenly stopped chuckling and was deadly serious.

"Yeah, I am. She's my mistress, and I'm sure is one to a number of other men, too." He said, his tone implying he felt quite guilty, but at the same time it was a guilty pleasure. The woman shook her head in disgust.

"He's joking, I'm not sleeping with Adam-" She stuttered.

"Then how do you know his name?!" Ramona bit her lip, seeing she had slipped up. "The least you could do is admit it!" With this, she stormed off down the stairs, and back into the city.

Ramona stood there in shock, fully drenched in freezing water, the last of the ice cubes melting at her feet. Sherlock bursts out into mirth.

"That was priceless!" Ramona bit back a giggle, but it overtook her anyway, and she started laughing, too.

"Oh my god." She said, in between giggles. "Did that actually just happen?" She turned around, and Sherlock froze suddenly on seeing her.

"What?" She began in a frenzy of worry. _Do I have something on me? Has my waterproof mascara somehow run? Has- Oh, no. _She looked down, and her white t shirt was soaked, stuck to her. You could see every detail of her stomach and new bra, which was now going to have to go in the wash.

Ramona felt her face burn, and then looked up at Sherlock in fury.

"Don't look!" He snapped out of his state of shock.

"Hm?" He blinked a couple of times. "I obviously wasn't! I was thinking about the case, don't flatter yourself!" He crossed his arms and turned around. Her anger left, and she melted slightly at his innocence.

She brought up a socked foot and kicked him gently in the back, before walking to her room down the hallway, smirking at the memory of his dumbfounded face. It seemed the only way to truly stun the detective into silence was to either kiss his cheek, or bare a bit of skin. She remembered Irene Adler, and frowned. He hadn't been reduced to stuttering when he saw her whole body, so why had he been so effected by only a small fraction of hers?

* * *

**And so the game is on!**

**It's not going to be a massive mystery, but hopefully you'll enjoy it!**

**Thank you so much for reading, review to motivate me to write more nonsense!**


	34. Luna

**Luna - Bombay Bicycle Club**

* * *

"It's just a twenty seven minute drive from here." Ramona states, looking at the map on her phone, memorising the route. "So there's no point in getting a taxi." She's wearing a pair of expensive Kevlar skinny jeans, that protect her legs from just about any injuries if she came off. She was also wearing her leather jacket zipped up, boots and leather driving gloves. She was admittedly excited to go for a motorcycle drive in the countryside, and it was visible.

"I'll drive." He said, picking up her spare black helmet. She frowned in anger.

"No, I'll drive." Sherlock's eyebrows creased as he turned to look down at her.

"I've seen the way you drive." She crossed her arms and put weight on her right foot. "I'd never get on a motorcycle you were driving in a million years."

"That's just rude! I'm a perfectly safe drive-"

"You're a daredevil and a speed merchant. I'm not about to risk two of the world's smartest because you like to go fast." She realised he wouldn't give in. Ramona huffed.

"I swear to god if you ruin it like bonfire night, you'll have hell to pay."

"Oh yes, so sorry about saving your life." He replied with a sarcastic smile, pulling on his coat and gloves.

"I spent ages getting the suspension _just _right, and then you come along-" She was in her own world momentarily, moaning about all the tinkering it had taken to get the bike back to its best state. Sherlock suddenly whisks out of the flat, and she snaps out of it, jogging after him.

The raven beast of a motorcycle was parked squarely outside of the building, as it normally was. It was very expensive, top of the range, and most importantly, ridiculously overpowered.

She caught up to Sherlock, who was looking at it, helmet in his left hand, as if squaring up an opponent. She rolled her eyes. He heard her coming up behind him, and put his hand out. She begrudgingly placed the keys in her hand, which he examined for a second. She got a text, and pulled out her phone, reading.

He took this opportunity to go over and put a leg over the bike, lean off the ground and kick the small stand back, and start the ignition. Ramona looked up and went to walk over, before freezing for a second.

He was the image of tall, dark, and handsome. He had a completely unimpressed look on his face, his ebony curls matching the colour of the bike, his long legs on either side, balancing it. Sherlock looked ridiculously attractive, and it irritated her.

"Any time this year, Ramona." He sounded exasperated. she remembered herself and quickly hopped onto the upwards tilt of the bike behind him. Ramona bit her lip and put her helmet on as he did. She saw him roll his shoulders, before leaning forward. She leaned forward too and put her hands around him, hoping he couldn't feel her pulse. She'd just say it was adrenaline from the bike, if he could.

Sherlock revved the bike and it gave a powerful roar. He laughed a little in a tone of dark anticipation, before speeding off.

* * *

They finally broke out of the city, and Ramona was now off Sherlock, leaning back and holding the bar behind the seat. It was the beginning of summer, and the sky was a beautiful sapphire, and the motorway was surprisingly clear. She felt him speed up at this, going at least seventy. An enormous amount of adrenaline entered her blood stream, realising that this could be counted as a perfect moment. There she was, with Sherlock, on their way to an interesting case on her favourite mode of transport, she had been holding onto him only minutes ago, the weather was amazing, the roads were clear, and she felt the best she had since she could remember.

Ramona let out a laugh of pure delight, and Sherlock turned his head, enough to see that she had her expression of pure serenity, her eyes sparkling with happiness. He smiled, and turned back around, revving again and speeding up slightly.

They arrived outside the house, and Sherlock stopped outside the gate, putting a foot down. She hopped onto the ground and took her helmet off, ruffling her hair slightly to get the helmet hair look away.

"Two minutes." She stated, getting a lock picking set of tools out of her jacket pocket, and crouching down to unlock the huge padlock wrapped around the two closest bars of the ornate gates.

Ramona looked up, to see that the name of the house, Ghost's Forge, was in lettering above the gates. The name struck her as odd, as it wasn't a forge, and there were no legends of ghosts in the area. Her frown deepened. _Why do I get the feeling it's connected to the case?_ She quickly got to work on the padlock, and was finished after a minute and a half. She opened the gates for him, and he drove to just after the gate, letting her close the gates again and get back on the bike.

The two got off the bike, Sherlock taking his completely blacked out helmet off, and ruffling his hair in the reflection of a window. She went to the door, and unlocked it, this time in a minute and fifteen seconds.

"New record!" She enthused, proud of herself. He walked past her, into the house.

"According to the police report, he was found with a knife in his throat. The knife had gone straight through and lodged in the window frame, keeping the body in position and facing the window. They also found some blood at the bottom of the stairs which didn't match Ezra Carr's." She recited to a Sherlock dodging into every room, after memorising the police report. "So we should start there."

She goes to the end of the hallway, and finds that the blood the police report spoke of was now just a stain. Sherlock joins her. He looks from the stain, and then up the stairs.

"Looks like someone could of fallen down the stairs." Ramona muses.

"Possibly."Sherlock says, and then steps over it, to walk up the stairs. She follows him.

"Y'know, I'm curious as to the name of this place."

"Oh?" He said, walking into the room opposite the stairs. She looked around the hallway, and began walking up it, to the window. She spotted the gate, and its lettering. There was something off, and it made her feel uneasy.

"Yeah." She muttered, almost to herself. "I mean, the name doesn't make any sense, does it?" Ramona bit her lip. "Why would you call a house like this 'Ghost's Forge', unless it was... Like, an inside joke or something."

He was standing at the other end of the hallway as she turned around. They locked eyes and he was about to speak, before he was interrupted by a noise above them. They both look up, and then look back down, sharing a knowing look.

Ramona pulled out a very small torch from her pocket, and switched it on, as the electricity was obviously off in the dead man's home. They slowly walk up the stairs, Ramona first, and find that it's completely dark, and has a heavy atmosphere. They both get up into the cramped, dirty attic, feeling as if something else was there.

The growing tension was suddenly broken by a bird flying straight for Ramona. She shrieks in fright and jumps out of the way- straight into some cobwebs. She jumped back again, her strong phobia of spiders compelling her to scream,which was fighting her stronger phobia of showing herself up in front of Sherlock. She lets out a shuddering breath and pulls it out of her hair a bit too quickly to be calm, and his face lights up with amusement at the whole ordeal. He starts walking around as she keeps the torch where he's looking.

Suddenly he almost trips, as his foot connects with a heavy box on the floor. He looks down, before picking it up with a grunt, curiosity over the package compelling him to bring it down.

They stand in the upstairs hallway, as he places the box on a small mahogany table, and open it. To his dissatisfaction, it contains nothing more than five identical copies of a book called "The Grave Digger" by Gerald Eastland.

"There's room in this." He states, picking up a book and passing it to her, and then taking one for himself, flipping it over in his hand and skimming the blurb, deciding he'd read it when they got home. She frowns slightly and looks in the box. He was right.

"Yeah, for six books." She looks at the title and the author, before frowning. "Why would you have six copies of the exact same book, and then put five in the attic?" His eyes dart about, and she could tell he was searching for an answer.

"I don't know." He huffed and passed the book to her. "But it's a lead, I'm sure." She nods in agreement, following him out of the building.

* * *

When they get back home, Ramona's still thinking about Ezra Carr, after reading the first couple of pages of the book, and was now researching various things to do about the case. Ramona felt like she was missing something important in the case, a vital piece of the puzzle, as Sherlock lay on the couch, book above his face, reading, but obviously thinking about the case more, as he hadn't turned a page in half an hour.

"I did some research on the books author, Gerald Eastland." She said. He looked up from the book.

"And?"

"Flashy bastard, cabinet minister in the 90's, managed to write a few decent books after he retired, died five years ago." Sherlock's thinking about this. "No Stephen King of course, however, he loved messing about with words."

"Like this, then." She nods. "Nothing about digging graves, instead, a miserable Australian." She grinned at the play on words. Ramona thought for a minute, completely still.

She suddenly got up and pulled out her phone, deciding she was restless, and needed some things to be confirmed so that she could make assumptions.

"Hello? Mimi?" Sherlock frowns at the use of the name, and turns his attention to her, unsure of what she was doing. "Yeah, it's me, the consulting detective-" Sherlock shot her a look with raised eyebrows. "-s apprentice." She adds begrudgingly, as he smirks at the official name he had picked out for her.

"I was wondering if I could ask you a few questions about Adam," She paused. Mimi really did like the sound of her own voice, that was for sure. "First of all, his marriage." She nodded slightly, and made eye contact with Sherlock, rolling her eyes and gesturing to the phone. The corners of his mouth turned up in amusement.

"You don't think they're suited at all, then." She begins to write this down. "Yes, from what I've seen of the woman, she's not the most pleasant." She shares a look with Sherlock and he snorts. "And how old's the baby? Nine months?" She nods, and writes this down too. "Thanks, we'll be in touch shortly." She put the phone down.

"What are you on to?" Sherlock asks, watching her move. Ramona picks up her laptop, and Sherlock sits up as she sits besides him, showing him the screen of the laptop. He raised an eyebrow as he began to read.

"Out of curiosity, I tracked down the magazine that Adam won a writing competition in, and it's the story that he wrote, it's actually really good." He narrows his eyes, before they widen. He gets up. "I also ran up on Ezra Carr, and Shirley, Adam's wife, and-"

"Six books!" He exclaimed. She stood up and turned to him. "Oh, how could I have been so _stupid_!" He hits his forehead with his palm, and then puts his hands around Ramona's face, locking gazes. "It's a play on words! A writing competition, and six books! Nine add nine and a freebie!" Ramona frowned momentarily, as he watched the pieces fit together in her mind. It took a few seconds, but her eyes widened as she gasped. "Come on!" Sherlock pulls on his coat, and dashes out of the building, leaving Ramona to run behind him.

"But I haven't shown off yet!" She shouts after him, as he runs down the street, and she sprints to catch up and run alongside him.

* * *

**Have you worked it out yet? **

**What did you think? Hate it? Don't mind it? **

**Thank you so much for reading and reviewing!**


	35. Lonesome Street

**Lonesome Street - Blur**

**I own nothing but my ocs'**

* * *

Sherlock and Ramona arrive at the Dawson household, both breathless after a good ten minutes of sprinting. Ramona had had severe asthma as a baby, and although it had gotten better and gradually faded, as it did with some people, at times she could feel her breath a bit too hard to pull in, and being a smoker definitely didn't help that situation.

She tried to regulate her breathing as she crouched down, and looked up to see that Sherlock was watching her, slight concern over his features.

"You never told me you had asthma as a child." She took a few beep breaths, and felt herself returning to normal.

"It didn't exactly come up." She remarked, as he held out a hand for her to get back up with. She looked at it, and his profile, looking at the house, and took it without hesitation.

They went around the stand alone townhouse, to the unlocked back door. Ramona opened it, putting a protective arm out to prevent him from stepping into danger. His eyebrows creased in confusion at her, and she wished more than anything that she could tell him.

She's quick to realise that they've interrupted a domestic. She looks to her right, and there's the woman that threw water on her on the stairs. Or, if they were going by her name, Alice Dawson. She had been going to settle a crying baby upstairs, and her face fell from shock to despair as she saw their faces.

"Come to the living room after you've settled the baby." Ramona says, feeling sorry for the woman. She nods, and walks upstairs.

* * *

Ramona stands, leaned up against a wall, as Sherlock sits in an armchair, drumming his fingers on the arm impatiently, meanwhile Adam and Mimi sit on the couch besides each other. The living room had cream walls, and didn't look very lived in at all. At this point, Alice walked in, and sat on the couch silently.

"Finally, we can begin." Sherlock's voice was full of annoyance. "Let's start with you, shall we?" He turns to Adam, who looks back at him in confusion.

"Me?" He replies, but Ramona has already started talking.

"Ghost's Forge. Funny name, that. There's nothing to do with ghosts or forges where the house is, so why in the world is it called that?" Adam's eyes widen. "There's a book called 'Finnegans Wake', and people kept putting in apostrophes when there's no need for it." They all looked blank. "Because it's meant to be ambiguous." Mimi raises an eyebrow. "As in, people are made to question whether it means 'One Finnegan's funeral', or 'several Finnegans wake up'." She looks around at the confused room. "It's a play on words." Sherlock's smiles. "For the slower ones of you here, let me spell it out. Ghosts For G E." She looked around, everyone dumbfounded apart from Sherlock. "G E, as in Gerald Eastland, the supposed author of The Grave Digger."

"The book that we found six copies of in Ezra Carr's house. Now why would anyone have six copies of the same book? That is, unless they were author's freebies. All author's usually get half a dozen copies on publication, I'll admit I was painfully slow to get to that." Sherlock adds.

"This links back to the name of the house. 'Ghosts For GE'- Literally meaning that the resident of that house was Gerald Eastland's ghost writer. Surprisingly simple, but very clever, all the same."

"But, Gerald Eastland's been dead for five years, how can he have anything to do with the murder?" Mimi asks. Sherlock rolls his eyes, and is about to say something rude, before Ramona butts in.

"On the police report, it says that nothing was taken, no money, jewelry, antiques- but something was." Her eyes dart to Adam. "Ezra Carr himself."

"When you hear the name Ezra Carr, a man who lived a life of solitude and seclusion for two decade, you get an image of an old man." He took a sharp intake of breath. "However, no one ever thinks about how easily he could be a man in his late thirties, who lost his wife twenty years ago." Everyone in the room looks to Adam.

"So who was the man who was killed if he wasn't Ezra Carr?" Mimi asks, directing her question at Ramona this time, finally realising that Sherlock would just be rude. Ramona shifts her gaze to Alice, who looks uncomfortable.

"Would you mind if I fill in the blanks here, Alice?" She hesitantly nodded. "When you were around fifteen, you were raped by your uncle, a man three times, if not more your age. It happened repeatedly, until one day you worked up the courage to leave. You could manage it for a few months, but he'd always hunt you down. And when there wasn't anymore fight in you," Her voice was gentle. "You gave up running, stopped fighting, and gave in." She paused. "He was an evil man, made you bad by association. House breaking was one of their tricks. She'd knock on the front door, keep them talking, as your uncle broke in through the back, and went through everything." Her attention moved back to Adam. "But one day, you go to Ezra's house, and you make a big mistake." She swallows, willing herself to not look at Sherlock. "You fall in love." Alice's eyes widen, and fill with tears. "All these fantasies start to run through your mind- ones you know can never come true. After all, who are you? A liar," She looked up. "And a thief." Ramona starts to get caught up in the situation she was imagining. "Suddenly, there's a noise from upstairs, and Ezra goes to investigate. You don't know what to think, perhaps you want him to get caught? Ezra goes upstairs and finds Bill going through his deceased wife's jewelry. He tells him to get out of the house, but Bill produces a knife. Ezra fights with him, but sadly falls down the stairs and gets knocked out, leaving traces of blood at the foot of the stairs. He didn't care about what he'd done- he was more interested in finishing the robbery. This sent you over the edge, you no longer cared either. Running upstairs with the knife and stabbing your uncle in the neck. He staggers to the window and falls against it, landing in the position he was found in." Sherlock takes over.

"She sets about putting all the jewelry back in its place, when Ezra comes back to consciousness. But something was wrong, you could tell. The concussion had taken his memory. All he remembered was a knife and a struggle the rest was a blank - his life up to that point's gone. If he hadn't had said 'I killed him', you may have never come up with the idea. She pretends to be his wife, and gives him the name 'Adam'. Tells herself she's helping him escape from the secluded life he's been leading. Gradually she 'rebuilt' his memory into what she wanted it to be. They had been childhood sweethearts always on the wrong side of the law, and they had to use this experience to get back on track - start a family. For eighteen months she lived from day to day hoping he wouldn't gain his memory back. The one thing she didn't count on was that he would meet someone else, or, perhaps, us." He turns to Alice. "Am I wrong?" He looked thoughtful but satisfied.

Ezra is close to tears.

"But, I still can't remember anything, nothing's coming back to me!" He cried, understandably upset.

"Perhaps it's for the greater good." Ramona crouched down in front of him. "After all, isn't twenty years of mourning enough for anyone?" She felt a deep sympathy, and her heart wrenched at his tear filled eyes. This was one unfortunate man, that was for certain.

* * *

They started walking back, and it would be a seventeen minute walk. She couldn't help but feel unsatisfied, even though they had solved the mystery, and had brought the man back to his original self, was this really the happy ending she always hoped for, or just a cop out?

Ramona goes to get her phone from her back pocket, and on pulling it out, trips slightly on her own foot, the phone falling to the floor behind her. Sherlock stopped. She turned around to pick it up, but as she did, Ramona saw something out of the corner of her alert eyes, dark and huge and a flash at the end of the street, before dashing out of view, as if never there.

She froze in shock, stuck in a crouching position, hand towards her phone on the ground.

"Did..." His brow creased. "Did you...?"

"Sorry?" She tried to forget it, deciding that it was probably her mind playing tricks on her, if the most observant person she had ever met hadn't seen it. She shook her head, and picked up her mobile from the cement, and they continued walking for a while, before Ramona cut through the comfortable silence.

"How would you react if you were told that nothing in your life was real?" Ramona asks, looking up to the profile of the consulting detective, who looked stoic in the cool night air. He thought for a second, as they crossed a silent road.

"I'd be furious, and probably get revenge on whoever did it." She mulled over this, and realised why she had asked. She was looking for how to feel, not being sure herself about her newly discovered purpose. Ramona began to feel upset, and wished she'd never asked.

"What about you?"

"If I found out my life was nothing but a- a set up?" She looked down at the pavement for a few seconds as they walked. "I suppose," Ramona brought her gaze up to Sherlock, who was watching her carefully, and they locked eyes. For some reason, they halted in synchronization. "I don't know." Her eyes began to mist slightly, but she couldn't look away, as his brow creased. "The life that I have right now, everyone I know, if I found out the reason I'm here was make-believe, I-" She gently smiled, with tears brimming in her eyes. "I'd be happy that it happened, and nothing would change." His frown deepened in confusion and shock at her expression, before he looked back forward.

"Emotions." He said it like a swear, but his bare hand reached out to her, waiting for her to take it. Her tearful eyes widened at the sight of his awaiting hand, as he looked away, as if refusing to act like he knew what he was doing. She took his hand, their fingers interlocking, and it instantly felt right to her, in such a way that it was as if their hands were made for the sole purpose of fitting together perfectly, two complicated pieces of a jigsaw puzzle, finally clicking together. His grip tightened slightly but still gently, and he started walking, as if unaware that of her hand in his.

"How human of you." She wasn't sure who he had directed the sentence to, but she bit back a grin, and realised that it didn't matter where she was or how she got there, she'd stay if Sherlock was there.

* * *

**That fluff tho! **

**How was the puzzle? Too easy?**

**Thanks for reading! Review to motivate me!**


	36. I Don't Like You Anymore

**I Don't Like You Anymore - The Last Shadow Puppets**

* * *

"I need you, in my bedroom, now." Ramona shouted to the closed door. She wasn't expecting him to answer, as it was two in the morning, and Sherlock had probably fallen asleep.

Sherlock enters, looks up, and then smirks at her. She looks terrified, as she grabs a pillow and hugs it tight to her chest with wide eyes.

Sherlock stands at the foot of Ramona's bed, as he takes his shoes off, never breaking eye contact.

She flinches as he steps forward, so that he's standing on her bed. She looks up in awe as he proceeds to trap a huge spider that had been on her ceiling in a drinking glass covered by his debit card.

He glances back at her as he steps back off, as if to point out how easy it was.

"Look, muggers are okay to approach in my book, but by no means are sp-" He brought it closer to her and her voice went higher into a scream as he grinned. "Don't bring it near me you dickhead! Take it away!" The panic in her tone made him chuckle. He lets it crawl into his palm and then shows it to her.

"It's just a spider, they're actually quite friendly." She shrieks and scuttles away, almost falling off her bed.

"No!" She almost wretches as he puts it near her face with a giggle. She clutches the pillow tighter. "Get rid of it! Dispose of it!" She shouts as he puts it back in the glass and steps back. She lets out a whimper and curls her toes as it crawls around in the glass. He then heads towards the bathroom. "Not down the toilet!" He rolls his eyes and walks back inside her bedroom, opening the window and dropping it onto her window box. As he looks out of her window momentarily, he sees a something dark and huge in the street under a lamp, before there were a few footsteps in that area, like something was running away.

"Did you see that?" He muttered, almost to himself, eyes fixed in place.

"Sorry?" He snaps out of it.

"Oh, nothing." Ramona shudders as she remembers the spider.

"That's the fourth this week!" He gives her a look of disdain. "Thanks for taking care of it."

Suddenly, he looks down into the corner of her bedroom and widens his eyes, walking towards the corner and crouching, placing his palm to it. She follows him timidly.

"W-what is it-" He spins around quickly and pushes his open palm right in her face with a loud 'argh!', causing her to scream and almost fall she scrambled back so quickly. She regained her breath and realised the detective was bent over laughing.

"That was-" He managed in between giggles.

"Get out!" She shouted, pointing to her door. "Get out, sadist!" He left, still chuckling to himself as he closed the door. She huffed with a ghost of a smile, jumping onto her bed, and cocooning herself in her duvet, before eventually grinning in the dark like a madman in memory of Sherlock's laugh.

* * *

Ramona was sat in the living room of 221B, with 'Hannah' sat at the desk on her laptop, editing Ramona's CV, Sherlock currently staring down a microscope at something or other in the kitchen in a red dressing gown.

"I really don't see the point in getting a job." Ramona stated. Hannah huffed.

"Where you work right now's never gonna get you anywhere." She finishes. "Hopefully your life'll get on track, God willing-"

"Don't think he'll have much involvement." Hannah turned around to face her.

"Can you have some ambition, please?"

"It's a perfect waste of my superior brain." She remarked, scrolling on her phone.

"Tell her she's lazy, Sherlock."

"You're lazy." Ramona narrowed her eyes and turned around to face him.

"Says the man who spends the majority of his time lazing about his flat." He shrugs.

"That's my job, I laze about and solve puzzles." Ramona pointed at Sherlock, turning back around to Hannah.

"I want that." Hannah gave her a look.

"You're getting blunt about it, aren't you?" Ramona's eyes widened and her cheeks flushed.

"Hannah!" She giggled and turned to the laptop.

"What do you do best?" Ramona thought.

"Everything."

"Don't be silly."

"Put it down. You're supposed to 'sell yourself', aren't you?"

"I'm not-" Hannah glared at her. "If you're not going to take this seriously, I'm going." Ramona sighed heavily through her nose and got up, leaning over her shoulder.

"Put that I have a really logical brain or something, and that I can work well with others-" Sherlock laughed.

"You don't work well with others." Hannah said. Ramona looked confused.

"Yes I do. I work well with Sherlock, and he's _Sherlock_."

"You compete, there's a difference." Ramona rolled her eyes.

"Fine. Put that I have a can-do attitude." Hannah turned around.

"I told you to take this seriously!" Ramona looked outraged.

"I am!"

"You're the biggest pessimist I've ever met!"

"I'm _English,_ Hannah, what do you expect?"

"You're Irish."

"Put that I have the luck of the Irish, then."

"That's not even funny."

"Look Hannah, I don't want a proper career." She sits down next to her. Hannah looked disappointed.

"Why not? You seemed so driven in university." Ramona looked down, and realised she wasn't going to get anywhere.

"I need to tell you something. Come on." She walked out of the flat and upstairs, and Hannah followed, leaving a very curious Sherlock in the kitchen, who quickly decided it was just girl talk.

* * *

Sat at the dining table, Ramona felt nervous.

"W-what is it, Ramona?" Hannah looked anxious.

"I know, _Mia_." She stated. Hannah's eyes widened, as she slid into the chair opposite her. She was fully shocked, and looked paler than before.

"I-I-" She didn't have any words.

"You were training me all this time." Hannah's mouth dropped open.

"How?"

"Mycroft. He told me everything." She looked ashamed. "Tell me, did you ever even like me? Do you like me now?" Hannah paused for a second, and Ramona's heart sunk, trying not to start crying.

"At first, no." A pang went through her.

"How long is at first?"

"Three years." There was no describing the pain that she felt at that moment. If any person could be told by their best friend that they actually disliked them, the person they put all their trust in, the person they tell everything to, to be betrayed like that was too much for her. "But then, I started to like you. It's not an act anymore, Ramona." Ramona refused to look at her, tears brimming in her eyes.

"An act." She gets out. "This whole time. You were training me, spying on me." Hannah shook her head. "Why don't we try running? Let's take up self defence!" Ramona imitated her animated tones. "All this time. I'm nothing but a sacrifice. To save Sherlock Holmes. Nothing but a pawn on Mycroft's chess board."

"That's not true." Ramona brushed her cheeks, and then looked at Hannah. "You're his knight." She shook her head. "You're Sherlock's guardian angel, Ramona. I fully believe that that's what you were born to do."

"Oh, what, I was born to die for him?" She was getting herself worked up. "How is that fair?! What makes him more important than me?!" She knew what she was saying was selfish, but she sometimes thought this, after all, nobody was perfect and a person's raw state was one of self-preservation. Hannah was silent and guilty.

"That's why you don't want a career." She looked up. "Because you think you don't have a future."

"Not a long one, no." She gritted her teeth. "Hannah, does Harry know?" Hannah is still, and then nods. Her jaw drops.

"Are you fucking serious?!" There was silence after the thought.

"Look, Ramona-"

"I'm sorry, but I don't want you in my life anymore." Hannah swallowed, and her eyes began to mist over.

"You- you don't mean that-" Ramona stood up with conviction.

"Oh, I do! I never want to see you again!" She leaned in, and hissed at her. "And you can tell Mycroft one last piece of information, tell him I want every piece of surveillance off me, especially that freak that I've seen." Hannah started to cry.

"You're as much as my life as I am yours-"

"_Then why didn't you_ _tell me!" _Hannah jumped up in shock of the shout and Ramona's fist coming down on the table, now terrified. The voice that she had just heard wasn't Ramona. It was a cry of malice and evil, and there was something in her blue eyes she'd never seen before. Hannah realised she was too scared to speak. Ramona took a few breaths, closed her eyes and then opened them again, and the sapphire fire in them was gone. What Hannah had just seen rocked her to the core.

"Goodbye, Mia Collins." She left the flat and walked out into the street, and left Hannah alone in her apartment, slamming the door behind her. Inside 221B, Sherlock raised his eyebrows at the raised voices.

Going out onto the street, all Ramona had was her debit and oyster card, and her phone. She quickly decided that she couldn't go back home tonight, and so made her way towards the Baker Street tube station, her destination Kain's flat.

* * *

She woke up in the morning feeling the most emptiest she could remember. It wasn't necessarily regret, well it was, but it was mixed with a strange sense of satisfaction, as she had rebelled against Mycroft's oppressive regime that was her life.

His flat was modern and the wall facing outwards was completely covered in glass, giving her a decent view of the London skyline.

"So what happened that you came here?" Kain asked, after getting out of the shower and getting dressed. Ramona had a spare set of underwear there at all times, for occasions such as these. She got changed into the different set of underwear and her outfit from the day before, which was black ripped skinny jeans, white trainers, and a white crop top. She shrugged as she made the bed.

"Just wanted to see you, I suppose." The truth was, she had wanted someone or something completely impartial, that had nothing to do with the Guardian Project, and had nothing to do with Sherlock Holmes. She cringed as she thought of him. It was strange, but the night before, she had found herself accidentally thinking about him instead of who she was actually with, which only made her even more confused.

"Well, I'm flattered." She goes to the living room, and pulls the blind up from the huge glass wall, flooding light into the open plan, modern flat.

"Don't be." She said bluntly, not wanting him to get the wrong idea. It was only physical attraction that she felt towards him, and she wanted to make it clear.

"God, since when did you become so _mean_?" He asked playfully, but she took it seriously.

"Dunno." She wasn't in the mood to joke around, that was clear. He saw this and raised an eyebrow. She remembered Hannah's expression, and it rung a bell. It was like that time in Leeds with Sherlock, and Mycroft when she found out about the project. After she got angry, they looked shocked, but mostly, terrified. That was when her phone buzzed to life on the coffee table.

**Message (3): Sherlock Holmes**

Her eyes widened. Sherlock never sent texts in a row, especially not three. Panic rose in her throat, hoping nothing had happened. She unlocked her phone.

**7:04pm : What just happened, and why did you walk off? Catfight, by any chance? **

Her stomach tightened at the events that had transpired yesterday. There were no signatures sent to her phone from people she knew well, as she never sent them, and people were quick to align with her preferences.

**10:27pm : Are you okay? Mrs Hudson's starting to worry. **

She cringed and remembered that she had stormed out without any warning, and not contacted anyone as to where she was going.

"Breakfast?" Kain asked. She frowned for a second and then looked up, piecing together his sentence, before nodding absentmindedly.

**1:52am : There's a mandatory 24 hour waiting period before I can file a missing persons case, but I'm sure Mycroft's name can open a few locked doors.**

She imagined him in the dark of his room, lay in bed, not being able to sleep, and then picking up his phone from beside him, the bright light illuminating his face as he typed above him.

Not sure what to put, she hesitated for a second. Whatever she put would just add fuel to the fire, wouldn't it? But then again, why would he care?

**8:29am : I'll be home today, don't worry. **

She got a reply a few minutes later.

**8:34am : No need to rush, and I wasn't worried. **

She rolls her eyes and locks her phone, playing with it in her hands.

"Doing anything today?"

"Nope." Ramona answered.

"I'll take you out. You look a bit on the done side." She raised an eyebrow and then laughed, really hoping he wasn't getting attached.

The day was admittedly alright, as they went to the cinema to watch a lighthearted comedy about two partners in crime, pretending to go back to secondary school. After that they wandered aimlessly for a bit, before heading to Oxford Street, and Ramona was let loose in all of the shops, her bank account now burning a hole in her pocket after Mycroft's paid off debt.

* * *

After picking out a good bit of food for her and Sherlock, she was walking down a street, ten shopping bags in each hand, feeling content about her guardian project free day, and the amber glow and warmth of the setting sun that left everyone who saw it feeling reminiscent of summers past. That was when she realised she was walking down the wrong street. Embarrassed of herself, she quickly turned around on her heels, and saw a tall black thing at the end of the street, yet again.

Ramona almost dropped her bags at the sight, as she only got a glimpse, and then it was gone, the same circular flash with it. Her heart was beating a hundred miles a millisecond, and then she got a thought. _Something like that must be apart of Mycroft's surveillance, but I told Hannah to call it off, didn't I? _She quickly shook the thought, just the idea of the man in her mind making her feel sick in the pit of her stomach. She hurried home, and was more relieved than was healthy when she got sighed, back to the outside door, before walking up the stairs, trying to forget about it.

As she walked in the door, she started talking, wrapped up in what she had been planning to say.

"I went to that new Japanese shop today," She wriggled her leather jacket off. "It's really cool in there, got some food we could eat in celebration of me not conforming to the capitalist regime oppressing this country, how does that so-" She froze, as she saw Janine sat in the kitchen, Sherlock also quite still, doing some sort of experiment that included a finger bone. Ramona's eyes were wide as she giggled slightly, nervous and awkward. "I could always go get some more, of course." The thought of seeing whatever it was sent a shiver down her spine, like someone had walked over her grave. Seeing their expressions, they looked like they'd been caught red-handed doing something. "Or... not."

"Hello, Mona." Janine said, with a sweet smile that made Ramona feel like walking straight back out of the door.

"It's..." She was about to tell her to call her Ramona, but decided to keep her on a formal basis. "Janine, isn't it?"

"Yeah, Sherl was just telling me about how you're looking for a job, is that right?" Ramona's eyes widened slightly at the nickname, infuriated at the endearment. She decided to try and play off the initial awkwardness, and act casual.

"Actually, I'm being forced to by an inhumane capitalist system, as I said before." She got a bottle of pop out of the fridge, and sat down at the kitchen table, which was surprisingly clean. _Has he cleaned? Has Sherlock Holmes, the man who describes dust as eloquent, cleaned? He's cleaned for this woman? _"Anway, only work that's out for someone with no connections in London is menial."

"Well, I was thinking, there's actually an opening where I work." Sherlock looked up, giving Janine what looked to be a warning look.

"Oh, she doesn't care about newspapers." Ramona shot him a glare.

"It really hasn't got a lot to do with the actual newspaper," Janine looked amused. "I'm a PA for the owner of CAM Global News-"

"The one with the huge skyscraper?" Janine almost laughs.

"And one of his subordinates is looking for a new assistant, the last one resigned after being rejected when she made a pass at him." She raised an eyebrow.

"Is he hot?" Sherlock's eyes widened and he looked at her in disbelief.

"You get offered a job, and the first question you ask is if your boss'll be 'hot'?" Ramona chuckles.

"Quite frankly, all the ladies talk about is him."

"Oh?"

"Well you should know better than me. You did sleep with him at John and Mary's wedding." There is suddenly an atmosphere of pure hate radiating from Sherlock's smiling face, as Ramona sits there, stunned.

"I actually follow a very strict policy of keeping work and everything else very, _very _separate, so-"

"Stable, flexible hours, not a lot of actual work, meet a lot of celebrities, great social side to it, great pay." Her face was blank, as she debated it. Janine's happy and eager face, compared to Sherlock's foreboding and testing face was what she flicked between as she chose.

"I'll flip a coin." She stated. Janine frowned and Sherlock's expression incredulous.

"It's luck." She shrugged. When she thought about it, she really did have nothing left to lose.

"Why not?" She fished for a coin in her back pocket, and then brought out an old two pence piece. "I'm fifty fifty on the whole thing, and so is a coin flip." She looked at it in her palm, before looking back up at Sherlock. "D'you wanna call it?" Janine began to feel like she wasn't actually there. Sherlock rolled his eyes. "If it lands on what you call, I don't take the job."

"Fine." Ramona grinned, his face telling her what she was thinking, and she placed it over her thumb, before flipping it high into the air. Time paused momentarily for Sherlock as the coin reached maximum height.

"Heads." He states, and bites his lip in anticipation as she catches it and slaps it onto the back of her other hand. As she reveals the coin to herself, she raises her eyebrows, before looking up, not sure how to feel.

"Heads it is!" She states, smiling and without turning it over, put the coin on the table and slid it over to Sherlock, so only he could see. Janine looks disappointed, and perhaps even scared for a second, before going back to her normal irritating casualness.

Sherlock looks down at the copper coin as she walks away, carrying her shopping bags into her room, and his eyes widen when he sees that the coin had been flipped to tails, not heads. A corner of his mouth turns up for a second, and he then puts it in his pocket. What was she trying to say?

* * *

**You can probably tell, but this was a bit of a filler chapter **

**I know that she's sounding self-important and righteous in this chapter, whilst spending Mycroft's money, but I never intended to have a perfect oc, as that'd just be so dull**

**Thank you so so much for reading, even more gratitude to you if you review! **


	37. T-Shirt Weather

**T-Shirt Weather - Circa Waves**

* * *

"-Experiencing a full blown heatwave, starting today and lasting for at least a week, as the MET office has forecast." The woman doing the morning news stated, on the television in 221B Baker Street, where the infamous consulting detective is sprawled across his leather chair, his shirt unbuttoned two buttons further than usual, his suit jacket nowhere to be seen.

"Yes Carol, we're already seeing the effects on Britain's seasides, I'm here in Blackpool," The shot pans to a packed beach full of striped deck chairs and huge amounts of people, and then a bustling fair on the pier next to it, a Ferris wheel spinning slowly against the clear blue sky. "With local shopowner, David Smith. David, how has this weather effected your business?"

At this point, Ramona walks into the living room, a white tennis skirt on with a white grid crop top, and the sunglasses she had worn on their first meeting, holding back her hair.

"Morning!" He stretched out and moaned, and even though it was probably because of the heat, her heartbeat quickened and she had some thoughts that were definitely indecent.

"You're cheerful."

"Have you seen this weather?" She grinned. "It's beautiful."

"I beg to differ." She gave him a look. The heat was intense in the flat despite the open windows and it being ten in the morning, and it felt heavy on both of them. She walked over to him and threw him one of the green apples that were always in a bowl on the kitchen table. He got a proper look of her as his eyes roamed over her body, and he looked away with wide eyes, surprised to see more leg than he ever had of his apprentice.

"You're such a typical Englishman." He looked at her questioningly as she scrolled through her phone, looking for something. "Complain when it's cold, complain when it's hot, and moan that it'll soon be bad weather if it's perfect."

"A sound analysis." He remarked, as she showed him her phone screen.

"Which is why I want you to go to the Lido with me!" Her sapphire eyes practically sparkled with anticipation as he looked at her in disbelief, almost laughing.

"You." Her expression didn't budge. "I'm Sherlock Holmes, I don't swim." Her face didn't change in the slightest. She knew that her time with him was limited to her own short lifespan, so she desperately wanted to experience at least a good bit of weather with him. Ramona let out a moan of despair, and his eyes widened at the sound, putting his fingers to his temples and closing his eyes, as to remain in his right mind.

"Come on, it'll be fun." He gave her a look.

"I'm having fun right here." She laughed, and it was music to his ears. He realised nothing could bring her down today.

"Actually, do you even own any swimming trunks?" He thought for a second.

"No." Another laugh. She got back on her phone, and sat down on the floor below him, looking for something they could do. It was at this moment he realised just how far apart his legs were.

"Okay, um..." Her face was judging everything on her phone as it came up. She sighed in defeat, put down her phone and looked up at him, who at this moment looked like a disinterested king judging his subject. "Let's just go out, And we'll see what strikes our fancy." He almost rolled his eyes at himself, as he turned away.

"I don't want to." His voice was that of a reluctant teenager being asked to do chores. She got on her knees and shuffled towards him, causing his heart to jump and for him to scuttle back from temptation.

"Please, Sherlock," Her hands were together in a prayer position. "Just this one day, I promise it wont be boring, please Sherlock, plea-" He huffed at her big puppy eyes.

"Fine." She jumped up in happiness and grabbed his hands from the ends of the arms of the chair, pulling him up and into a short, lighthearted hug. She pulled away and his face was pulled into a confused, far away expression.

"Thank you!" Sherlock snapped out of his trance.

"I'm..." She goes over and begins to lace up a pair of white trainers, as he narrows his eyes at blank space. "Going to go take a shower." He could only imagine how cold the water would have to be to get him out of this feeling.

When he reappeared, his curls were half damp, wearing a pair of jeans and a grey crew top. She raised her eyebrows at his casual appearance.

Ramona now had a rucksack on, and they finally left the flat at one o' clock, Ramona ridiculously excited for the sun. She ran out of the hallway and into the sun, basking in it for a second. He followed, a lot less animated about the whole thing. He noticed how her golden hair seemed to have even brighter shades in the sun, which was already beating down on the two.

* * *

The streets were bustling, and the six foot, pale man was already feeling the affect.

They started by walking through Hyde Park, which was alive with music, street acts, dancers and everything in between. Her sunglasses were protecting her eyes from the harsh sunlight, and it seemed that nearly everyone in London was in the park, basking in it on the lush green grass.

Getting to a living statue as the're were walking the path, Sherlock with his hands in his pockets, and stopping to look at the non moving person in silver. They're sat in what looks like thin air, as people swipe their hand under them in amazement. The living statue is holding onto a stick, which seems to be the only thing keeping their whole body afloat.

Ramona stops as she sees Sherlock raise an unimpressed eyebrow, grabbing onto his t-shirt. But it was too late, as it seemed no one could stop the universal power that Sherlock possessed in making everything logical.

"The stick that he's holding onto's actually in the ground covered by the sheet, it's hidden by his sleeve and long coat, but it's attached to a seat he's sitting on." He states. Everyone looks at him, including a little girl, now looking very upset. Ramona doesn't know whether to burst out laughing or attack him. Sherlock frowns, looking at everyone, and then at her.

"A bit not good?" He murmurs to her.

"I think so." she murmurs back, as everyone then looked at her, angry parents included. "He's just joking," she crouched down to the little girl in front of them, looking to her secretively, covering her mouth as she talked to her. "Some people can't see the magic that's right under their noses, but that doesn't mean it's not there." The girl grins, and Ramona grins back, standing up again. Sherlock's expression was confused. _How is it that she could talk to a child like that, and still not sound patronising? _

She turned back around to him, and smiled, before walking on. Her reaction left him feeling a bit nervous, in case she was being passive aggressive.

"Aren't you angry?" He said apprehensively, as they walked a bit further on and he caught up with her.

"Hm?" She turned to him, and looked confused. "Why would I be angry?"

"Because I-"

"I know that that's your personality, it's not like it can be helped, so why would I get angry about it?" His mouth parted. "Moreover, it's what makes you so not boring." He raises his eyebrows. "Hey, can we get something to drink?" She asks, as if she had been chatting about the weather.

"The outside cinema's screening something." He offered, and her eyes lit up. He smiled at the back of her head, as she folded her sunglasses and put them in her bag.

When they got there, it was already quite busy. When she saw what they were screening, she gasped in delight suddenly, causing Sherlock to jump.

"Grease! They're showing Grease!" The outside cinema was an old amphitheatre with a huge screen at the bottom.

"I'm sorry?" Her jaw drops.

"Sandy? The T Birds? The Pink Ladies?" His face was blank, and she was appalled. "The flying car?"

"Isn't that Chitty Chitty Bang Bang?" He asks, and she instantly goes inside, dragging him by the wrist.

On the way out, Sherlock was basically puzzled by the movie.

"What did you think?"

It was..." His eyes narrowed. "Why did the car take off with no explanation at the end?" She frowned and thought for a second.

"You're right. There's literally no explanation at all, for all we know they could have frozen at a certain height and died from hypothermia." A couple gave her a funny look as they overheard and passed by. "Also the story's basically about a guy who's embarrassed of this girl, so she has to change herself so that they can go out." He nods. "Oh my god, that's awful!"

They began walking again, the sun starting to set.

"The London Eye." He looked to her after the half shouted sentence above the noise of the crowds. "Can we go? I've never been." He shrugged in agreement.

* * *

"What do you think we'll be able to see from here?"

"The majority of London, apparently." She tried not to bounce like a child as they got closer and closer to the top, and finally, their pod hit the top of the wheel.

She laughed in delight mixed with fear at the height. Ramona then half gasps with animation, before slapping a palm to her mouth as to not seem too juvenile.

"Sherlock!" He got up and went to stand next to her. She put a finger to the glass. "I can see the flat!" The weather was as clear as ever although it was getting to about half six pm, and the whole city really was visible.

"Where?"

"There! And the Diogene's club," She almost gasped and then hid it, and he began to smile at the girl who was acting like an excited child. Suddenly, a thought came to him._ Is she so childish because she never had the chance to actually be a kid? _Sherlock had had all the time in the world for a childhood, but he could only imagine what she had gone through at such a young age. _Perhaps that's why she was good with that little girl?_ "St Bart's," She muttered, and he felt a guilty pang. "You can really see everything! Can you see our house now?" He shook his head, trying to get out of his own head and actually enjoy what was happening for once. The wheel slowly began going back down. She huffed in annoyance. "Get behind me, and you'll be able to see where I'm pointing." He nodded and walked behind her, leaning his head over her shoulder and following her finger.

His eyes widened as he saw 221 Baker Street from a birds eye view. He let out a small laugh, and he could see her grinning in the reflection of the glass, as the frame of the wheel shuddered suddenly, and he grabbed onto the railing either side of her for support. This left her surrounded by Sherlock.

However, she didn't seem to mind as she turned around, his arms still trapping her, and she laughed with happiness. His expression softened, and on seeing this, in the rush of the moment, moved her head an inch forward to put her forehead to his, a serene look on her face. Shock almost made him flinch back, but he then realised it was only friendly, and smiled too. She took his right hand with both of hers, pushed out his little finger, and wrapped hers around it, as if making a pinky promise.

"Promise me." She says, quoting him from that night at the wedding, when she had saved him. His eyes widened, and his face then became gentle.

"I promise." he murmurs her line, their eyes locked. It was unspoken, but they both knew what it meant. Sherlock closed his eyes, trying to save the perfect memory to his mind palace in the best quality possible, not wanting to forget even one small detail.

Ramona wasn't sure how long they spent like this, time seemed a theory instead of something real when he touched her, every part of her that was in contact feeling electric.

The pod rocked again, throwing him off balance so that he was thrown onto one of the benches on the left hand side.

He looked up at her, slightly dazed, to find that although nothing had really happened, the top of her cheeks were flushed with colour. She noticed him looking at her, and laughed nervously. She was getting dangerously close to her limit. Anymore of this and she wouldn't be able to stop herself from ruining everything. How he felt she never knew, but if she was to give her everything to protect him, she couldn't get too close, or she wouldn't be able to do it without clouded judgement. She puts a hand to her face and feels the heat. _Or perhaps, _She thinks, _it's already too late._

* * *

**A breather chapter to give you a break from all the drama-ridden things I've been putting out :)**

**However, get prepared for what will be the winter of this story**

**Thanks for reading, review to make a day! **


	38. A Rush Of Blood

**A Rush Of Blood - Coasts**

* * *

"The second day of the heatwave, and London is definitely getting the worst of it, as we're even feeling the effects here in the studio!" There were no words for how hot the flat was. English homes were built to capture and insulate as much heat as possible, and this left it feeling like a literal oven. Sherlock was yet again sprawled out in his chair, even more uncomfortable, topless with pyjama bottoms on.

"BUGGER!" A loud shocked shriek from the bathroom. The door was suddenly opened, as he turned his gaze slowly, to see a head popping out from the door in the hallway. "Sherlock, why is the shower so bloody cold?" His eyes widened slightly and he mentally kicked himself. "It's on the lowest temperature."

"Heat relief." he replied casually, figuring he wasn't necessarily lying. _What am I supposed to say? 'Yeah, I've been taking quite a few cold showers to control my urge to- _

"Don't blame you, It's even hotter today." She stated, her eyes roaming over his stomach and his hip bones, which were glittering ever so slightly with light sweat. "Uhh..." She lost her track of thought completely.

"Yes?" He raised an eyebrow at her open mouth.

"U- um," She looked at the ground. "I-I yeah, I, tonight, park, um," He narrowed his eyes at this as she swallowed. She knew he knew she only talked like this when flustered or surprised. She visibly shook her head, and looked back up at him, this time her stomach jumping. His face was flushed slightly from the heat, some small curls stuck to his face, his chest visibly moving as he breathed, his neck and collarbone on full display. It was such a strong psychological attack, she felt he must know what he was doing.

"I was wondering if you wanted to come to the park with me I'm meeting a few people and you don't have any plans so if you want to you-" Her sentence came out like a rehearsed thing with no natural pause or breath to it.

"I've actually got plans, but thanks anyway." His voice was slightly deeper and breathier.

"Well get a shower you shameless man, it's not decent to be going around like that!" She wanted to sound angry but it came out more like a desperate plea, as she went back into the bathroom, screwing her eyes shut and bracing the cold water to get her mind out of the gutter.

* * *

She reached the park, yet again bustling with people, food and music, making a great atmosphere. She was meeting with a group of people, which consisted of Ellie, Amber, and some other people they were bringing along. She was slightly nervous at the prospect of a whole new crowd of people, but was then again relieved at the notion of a group of friends that had no ulterior motives or were geniuses. She spotted the two sunbathing on the deep green grass on towels with a group of people their age as they waved over to her. She smiled and walked together.

"Hi!" Ellie greeted her happily, before patting a place next to her. She sat cross-legged next to her. Ramona sat down, all the group of nine looking at her.

"This is Ramona, everyone."

"Hello." She said happily, trying to make a good impression. A boy with bleached blond hair and green eyes spoke to her.

After a while of chatting, conversation turned to her.

"Oh, do that trick, Ramona!" Amber enthused. She laughed uncomfortably.

"It's not actually a trick, but..." She looked over all the curious faces, which with her made six girls and four boys. She sighed. "Fine, fine." They leaned in with intrigue.

They spent a lot of time at the park, sunbathing and generally messing about and having fun. She decided she was either going to burn or tan really badly, or really well. As it started getting to dusk, a dark haired boy spoke up.

"I've got connections to one of the best parties, it's a rooftop one." They all nod and go along with it.

* * *

At about midnight, Ramona realises she never knew what Sherlock's plans actually were.

Ramona went to a corner of the alive roof and tried to concentrate on the rings of the phone. It got to seven rings, and she started getting worried.

"Hello?" A breathless voice at the end of the phone.

"I was just calling to make sure your okay, there's food in the-" Her words slightly slurred over the line. "Wait, have I caught you in a- a sensitive situation?"

"Uh..." The pit of her stomach twisted.

"Oh God, sorry, bye!" She hung up and felt the most embarrassed in a while, and after a few more hours dancing in a huge crowd with Amber and Ellie, the blond boy they had been hanging out with in the park came up to them.

"Look what I've got!" They turned to look at his palm. There were four pills which Ramona recognised immediately.

"Ecstasy?" Ramona asks cautiously. Although it wasn't as dangerous as most of the stuff going, it was still a large risk.

"Yeah man, MDMA." She bites her lip. Admittedly, she had never been high before.

"Come on then!" Amber enthuses, holding out her hand. Ellie does the same, and they both take it. They turn to her.

"I understand if you don't want one." The boy said, surprising her. She shrugged, and held out her hand, heartbeat starting to quicken.

"I'll try everything once." She said with a grin, before staring at the blue circle in her hand, and downing it.

"Takes around fifteen minutes to half an hour to kick in, but you'll be on a high for three to eight hours." She had read about what the drug did. Heightened senses, sharper vision and clearer hearing, and an apparently constantly euphoric feeling for a whole three hours all over the body. She laughed in excitement, and suddenly, the music stopped, and the lights went out. Everyone froze.

"Police, freeze!"

"It's the coppers!"They'd just taken a class A drug, and possession could get you anything from three to seven years in prison.

At this point, everyone on the rooftop starts running. Ramona looks around with Amber and Ellie, and quickly follow the bulk of people going down the fire escape.

After getting down into the alley, people began to disperse in every direction.

"Split up!" The boy with blond hair shouted. They did as he said, and Ramona began running straight forward, bringing up a map of her surroundings.

Sprinting down a snicket with another two strangers, she went left and then a sharp right, just avoiding some police. She carried on, and right in front of her was a policewoman. The policewoman spotted her and started running to catch her, as she laughed whilst playing a literal game of cops and robbers in the moonlit alleyways of London.

She took a right, and realised she'd made a big mistake. In front of her was a main road, with a police car parked right on the pavement. She swerved to a quick left, behind a thin building and to another road.

Just as she was about to cross the road, a black car pulled up in front of her, and she caught herself on it with her hands splayed on the dark window. Turning behind her, Ramona heard the footsteps of the policewoman, and quickly got in the back.

Seeing Anthea next to her, she giggled in amazement, and from the pure rush.

* * *

The car pulled up outside 221B, and Ramona was just starting to feel the effects of the drug. Everything was sharp, and she could hear every single sound separately. Walking up the stairs, feeling absolutely amazing, she burst through the door.

"Yes!" She shouted in the dark flat, delighted with the lingering rush of adrenaline from the chase and the just now kicking in rush of literal ecstasy.

The hallway light suddenly flickered on, and Sherlock appeared, messy hair and pyjama bottoms.

"Where have you-" He looked her up and down, and his jaw dropped as she laughed and went to hug him.

"I missed you so much! God you should of been there, only got chased by the bloody pigs-" He pushed her back and turned on the living room lights, studying her face.

"Physical side effects can include dilated pupils," He touches her jaw. "Tightening of the jaw muscles, raised body temperature and a quick heartbeat." He shakes his head in dismay. "You're high." The disbelief in his tone was obvious. She leans into his face, on her tiptoes.

"It's like your in HD, everything is so clear, I feel-" She stumbles back, being hit by the actual feeling of the drug, letting out a moan of happiness and falling onto the couch. "Oh my god." She breathes. His eyes widen. "This is the best feeling I've ever-"

"Ecstasy, then." She nods slowly, and relaxes completely, feeling as if her body was tingling. She sat up suddenly and gasped at the mug on the coffee table.

"Oh my god, that is so perfect!" He raises an unimpressed eyebrow. "Sherlock, do you see that? It's so unique, I love it so much, I love it." She closes her eyes in pure bliss.

"What's going on?" An Irish voice. Her eyes shoot back open and she jumps up, going over to a Janine in nothing but one of Sherlock's shirt.

"Janine!" She looks surprised and takes a step back as she tries to hug her. "You're so beautiful, I never realised until now." She looked like she might burst into tears she was so thrilled. "Janine," Her hands were clasped in front of her face. "I know this is sudden, but," She got on one knee in front of the dark haired woman. " I'm in love with you! Marry me, and we'll elope!" Janine lets out a musical laugh, fully amused and looking to Sherlock.

"Methylenedioxy-methamphetamine." Janine raised an eyebrow.

"Come again?" The woman who had just proposed got up in happiness.

"It's MDMA." He looks angry as Ramona turns back to him with a grin. "Possession can get you up to seven years in jail. It's a class A drug Ramona, what were you thinking?" She was too happy to to know what she was thinking, as euphoria flooded her every waking moment.

"Sherlock, I honestly don't have a lot of time left, and this is the best I've ever felt."

"That'll be the dopamine talking."

"And I can think so much clearer, if I went on a case right now-" She gasps. "Sherlock! We need to go! I can solve all the crimes if we go right this second!"

"It can produce brain lesions in your serotonergic neural pathways." He lectured her. "It's like you _want _to kill the few precious brain cells you have left." Her eyes widen at his big words, feeling love like she'd never felt it before.

"Sherlock, I love you too!" She goes in for another hug and he puts out a hand.

"Go to sleep."

"We should go out! All three of us! Polyamory!" Sherlock bites back a laugh as Janine giggles. "It'd be so fun! Come on, we need to have a talk about this, a proper one, we'll figure out the details." She looked like she was completely pumped for all of the propositions she had just made.

"Sherlock! It's like cloud nine, but there's another level..." He tried not to laugh at her expression. "It's cloud ten, She-"

"I'll take you to your room." He walked over to her door, and she walked into her room, looking around in amazement.

"I don't want you to freak out or anything, but I think my room may actually be the best place in the entire universe." She walked over to her lamp, reaching out to touch it. Her mind felt complete clarity the way it never had before. Ramona turned back around to the detective with a wide grin.

"I'm not impressed, Ramona." Her sense of euphoria dulled momentarily. "This is a waste of your talent and brain power, you could have died tonight." His face was like thunder, his words lightning. "Simply put, I'm absolutely disgusted at the disregard you hold for your own health, your stupidity, and your frankly alarming addiction to making me worry about you!" He slammed her door shut, leaving her in the dark, with hugely dilated pupils. Even though what he had said stung her, the waves of constant peacefulness refused to let her feel the full extent of being scolded by Sherlock just yet.

* * *

"God, that girl must get on your nerves." Janine murmured, breaking the one minute silence that was bracing his pitch black bedroom. He turned over to face her.

"She does." Sherlock whispered in return.

"It's cute, though, to see you get so worked up about something that isn't a puzzle."

"_Isn't _a puzzle?"

"It's like you're her concerned big brother or something!" She remarked, with a grin. A strike of shock ran down him.

"I'm sorry?"

"You act like you're her big brother."

"I'm _certainly _not any kind of brother to her." He huffed and lay on his back. "If I was, she might actually take note of what I tell her."

"That sounds messy." His brow furrowed.

"What do you mean?"

"What's your relationship with her?"

"We're obviously just friends." He stated, annoyed at how thick she was at some times.

"So I'm not getting in the way of anything?" His frown deepened.

"What are you trying to imply?"

"So she's getting in the way?" His eyes narrowed, and he turned over, his back to her.

"Stop rambling." He muttered, closing his eyes in frustration, wondering why she wanted to talk about the one thing he couldn't.

* * *

Ramona awoke to a loud phone call at six twenty three am, and the worst hangover of her life. She stumbled out of her bed, nearly tripping, before picking up her phone and putting it to her ear.

"Hello?" There was another ring in her ear. She grimaced and accepted the call. "Wassup?" Ramona put her fingers to her temples, closing her eyes in dismay, trying to focus her vision.

"It's Greg." Her interest piqued at his dismal tone.

"What's wrong?" There was a pause, in which she could only focus on her monumental headache, and her depressed state.

"You need to get here. Bring Sherlock with you." There was another smaller pause. "And possibly a bag to breath into." He gave her the details of the address and hung up.

She threw open the door to Sherlock's room, and without looking at the two for embarrassment, she groaned into the room.

"Case!" Her louder tone made her head throb harder, as she went to take a shower and get ready.

The heatwave was ongoing, as Sherlock was in his normal suit, and her dressing to reflect her mood again, high waisted shorts, a white top, her leather jacket, black trainers, and a scowl etched onto her features.

"How's cloud ten?" She pinched the bridge of her nose, and grimaced at Sherlock's sarcastic tone.

"Do you think you could maybe, _perhaps_, whisper, you fucking arsehole!" Her voice was a mutter until it raised to normal levels at the end. She winced at the sound of her own voice.

"Touchy!" An Irish voice remarked. Sherlock shared a look with Janine, as she went over to the door, and he opened it for her. He chuckled with no humour.

"That just about sums up a person with absolutely no serotonin or dopamine in them." Janine grins, and they kiss goodbye. Ramona's mouth contorts in disdain.

"God, get a room." She fall turns over onto her stomach on the leather sofa, one hand hanging over the edge limply, one over her head as if covering herself from a bomb. The door closed.

"Come on, Graham'll be expecting us." She moaned in utter depression.

"Just leave me. Tell him I've died or something."

"He rang you, not me, so that means he wants you there."

"I've no motivation, leave me to regret all of my decisions in my life up to this point."

"Ramona." His voice was testing.

"Sherlock, I physically can't. I'm sad, angry, tired, and I don't want to do anything. I feel like I'm a teenager again."

"It's the comedown, trust me." She thought she'd pass out right there, but she somehow got back up, straightening out her jacket, her sunglasses hiding the atrocity of bloodshot and still dilated eyes.

* * *

They got to a small stand-alone townhouse that looked like it had been abandoned. Ramona felt like she was now living life in third-person, not being able to focus at all.

"Sherlock's here." A policeman said into a walk-talky, holding up the tape for them to duck under, and it seems as if suddenly everyone goes silent, and watches her. Unease floods her dulled mind.

Lestrade greeted them outside with an apprehensive look, not his usual self. He sees her and raises his eyebrows. Ramona takes off her glasses and stares with eyes that resemble those of a dead fish.

"Before you go in, I want you to brace yoursel-" Sherlock paced past him into the abandoned home. She waited until he was out of sight, and then sighed heavily, putting her palms to her face in complete despair.

* * *

She walked down the thin hallway, being led by Lestrade, and then she turned to her right, to see a Sherlock that had no expression on his face but with a parted mouth staring right in front of himself, as she walked into the room, and turned to the left to see what he was looking at.

Ramona's eyes widened, and she involuntarily gasped in horror, taking a few steps back to get a full view.

"What..." Her voice was desperate. "What is this?!"

* * *

**Dun dun dunn!**

**She's really annoying me right now and I'm the one bloody writing her, sorry about that **

**Thank you so much for reading, thanks even more if you review!**


	39. After You

**After You - Pulp**

* * *

The wall in front of them both was filled with so many photos that the actual brick wasn't visible. Specifically, photos of Ramona. It was plastered with shots of her, obviously taken unknowingly to her. The shots were anything from full body to things like the back of her head, and in some photographs, it even seemed as if she was staring right at the lens. There were various police officers taking pictures of the wall.

The photos were all taken with a professional camera, that was for sure, and printed out to be glossy. She realised that in most places photos were on top of each other, creating a thick barrier of the scariest thing she had ever seen. There were also receipts from places she had been.

"This goes back to just when you came back." He nodded. She looked at him, and it came to her that her terrified state wasn't helping him at all.

"Well, it's certainly flattering." Her voice shook uncontrollably with nerves, as she tried to pull of a casual act. She goes up to a photo of her looking out of her window into the street. She rips it down off the pin it was stuck onto the wall with, and studies it. "Thoughts?"

"We're looking at an obsessive, if that isn't already obvious." Sherlock himself took two photos subtly from the wall. "The photos aren't in chronological order, the best shots are in the middle, indicating he cared more about how well he could get a look at you as to documenting what you were actually doing, so we can rule out anyone hired to do this."

"So, it's like a...?" Her voice trailed off, not sure what to say, and looked up to him. "But why go to all this trouble?" He ignores her.

"What makes this a crime scene?" Sherlock said, turning to Lestrade.

"This awful photo of me." She muttered. He turned to her with a glare, obviously thinking her line, which was unfunny to begin with, was completely out of line. Ramona was shell-shocked, wondering how much emotion her body could take. Someone had been stalking her all this time, and she hadn't even noticed. Had Mycroft's surveillance not noticed?

"This is only the beginning, unfortunately." Lestrade began walking upstairs, and Sherlock followed him. When she didn't move, he turned around, and gave her a quizzing look. Ramona snapped out of it, and followed slowly.

* * *

On seeing what was upstairs, she gasped and turned to the side, bending over, putting her hands to the top of her knees, and praying she wouldn't throw up, as she felt acid over her tongue, and her teeth throb.

In front of them was the body of a woman, hung from her wrists with rope almost like a decoration, and her eyes replaced with eery glass ones that seemed to coldly catch your own and hold them in a limp transfixed state. Her body was in nothing but underwear, and if it weren't for the eyes, you'd think she was taking an unorthodox nap.

"There's nothing to gain from you seeing this, go downstairs and wait for me." Sherlock was bent over slightly too, to meet with her anguished face. She looked to the side and their eyes lock, and she spots the body behind him, quickly looking back down at her shoes.

"No. I'm fine." Sherlock mirrored her as she straightened, as if he was scared she would break into a million pieces and drift away in the light breeze. He inhales shortly, before turning back around to the body, walking around it.

"Jennifer Stead, was on a night out with her mates, suddenly disappeared, and found here by a group of unlucky kids." Lestrade informs them, keeping a close eye on Ramona as she swayed slightly from a mixture of unhealthy things.

"Attacked?" Sherlock asked. Lestrade glanced to Ramona uneasily, not wanting to scare her anymore.

"There are signs of an attack of sexual nature." She took in a shaky breath as a pang of fear ran down her, whiting out her hearing for a second, slowing time down.

"And where's the link?" She looked to him.

"Link?" She asked, her brain still fuzzy from the haze of yesterday night.

"Something connecting the photos and the victim. There has to be one, or you wouldn't be here." Lestrade looked even more uncomfortable, as he unfolded a piece of paper, which was a missing persons poster. She felt faint for a second.

The woman had a likeness to Ramona in her face that you couldn't see because of the unnaturally large glass eyes. It was her hair, her body type, the shape of her face and eyebrows that gave it away. Sherlock looked almost lost in his thoughts as he looked over the picture, not showing any emotion, and going back to look at the corpse. She wasn't sure how she felt about this.

"But why?"

"Someone as psychotic as this doesn't need a reason to kill, that's what makes it so interesting." A hint of anticipation that should of made her feel uncomfortable instead made her feel relieved that he wasn't so affected. The three people that had been looking at the corpse left the room without instruction.

"Has there been anyone released or who escaped from mental hospitals in the area around six months ago?" Ramona asks Greg.

"We already looked into that, and there was one, who fits the profile for the crime. James Broadman, thirty-six right now. He was put inside for life for kidnapping and killing a woman, although it was never this brutal. He escaped from a hospital ten months ago." Sherlock's brow creased incredulously and looked over his shoulder to the two behind him.

"No, no, no, this is too messy to be him." Lestrade frowned at Sherlock. "Look at her fingernails!" She walked a few steps forwards, grimacing as she studied them. They were painted deep blue, and on further inspection, a slight layer of dirt was caked underneath them. "She's been dragged, not drugged." Ramona felt like she could hear the girl's scream of sheer terror and panic.

"And downstairs- the pictures were of me, yet I'm not the one murdered." A shudder that she failed to conceal ran down her spine.

"A stalker like this'll know where you are, what you're doing and when you're doing it, there's no way they'd mistake that lookalike for their real infatuation, and they wouldn't dream of hurting you." Knowing that she was that infatuation, knowing that the person who did this had been thinking about her constantly made her feel queasy.

"So why kill her?" His eyes widened.

"It's a warning." Pale grey eyes twitched to narrow for a second. "No, not a warning, it's their first move."

"Move?" Lestrade interjected.

"Think about it- how the photos were arranged," Sherlock begins with hand gestures and pacing. "The proximity of this house to Baker Street, the way she's been killed, the likeness of the victim to her, it's all been set up for us- for you." His eyes dart from side to side slightly. "It's a threat, an intimidation. They want to play a game."

"Then who is this directed at?" Ramona asks, watching him pace back and forth and feeling sluggish thanks to her comedown.

"Me, obviously!" He glances at her momentarily, before doing a double take and stopping to talk to her. "Whoever did this is obsessed with you, fixated to the point of murder just to get your attention." She meets his eyes, which darted from her left to her right in search of her understanding. "They're going to do everything in their power to get you, but first they need to cut your ties with me. They're trying to scare me." She looks troubled.

"I don't understand." His eyebrows crease and he and pulls his head back in shock, realising it was the first time those words had come from her mouth juxtaposed.

"Come on, _think_." Her eyes widen and she reddens slightly as he looks agitated with her. "Who's keeping you safe, keeping you under surveillance, checking you're safe, who knows where you are every night?" Lestrade looks completely taken aback. "Who cares?" This strikes her, and she doesn't know whether to thank him or hit him.

"Y-" She begins.

"Mycroft." Her face falls, half in embarrassment, half in shock. There's silence for a moment, their eyes locked in another one of those telepathic conversations.

"We've got no leads or suspects, no surveillance footage or even footprints." Lestrade interrupts the two, and Sherlock looks to him.

"I wouldn't say that."

"Oh?"

"We're looking for someone isolated, a loner with either no relationships or interest in other human beings, and with the time and funds to obsess over someone in such an extreme way. Someone smart, seeing as he's managed to evade my Mycroft and I. From the angles the photos are taken and the strength to drag the girl and tie her up, they're around six feet, so in probability it's a man." Everyones eyes drag up hesitantly to Sherlock.

"Oh, _come on!" _Sherlock cries in anger, and they all feel guilty for the poke they had made.

"But... You do follow me around a bit." Ramona murmurs to him, out of earshot of Lestrade.

"When have I ever followed you?"

"That time with the mugger." He frowns and looks at her, their eyes meeting again, his brow creased.

"I wasn't _stalking_ you that night, I was walking from the opposite direction to meet you halfway." Ramona's eyes widen and he takes a step back. "You were being followed." His tone doesn't come in the form of a question.

"Yeah, but when you showed up, I thought that it must of been you." He looks shaken for a second, before his mask is shut back onto his features. Anxiety creeps into her system_. _If they'd managed to get that close before, then she could only imagine how close they could of been at times she hadn't even been aware.

* * *

"Stay here." Sherlock instructs her on the doorstep to 221B. He walks away, and she pulls out her phone when he's on the other side of the road, producing a photo he'd taken from the crime scene, and looking from the glossy paper to the flat windows, trying to find the angle from which it was taken.

"Hello?" Mycroft's voice on the other line makes her bristle.

"It's me." There's a pause.

"We're taking every precaution in finding him-"

"Well it's not good enough, obviously." She could almost feel the eyebrow raise. "Come and get Sherlock, take him into the country for a few weeks until I can sort this out."

"How predictable. Unfortunately, I'm sure the only way my brother would do that is kicking and screaming." She bites her lip.

"You have to do _something, _Mycroft." Her voice is urgent. There's a sigh down the line.

"It's hard to do _anything_ when you turn away my operatives."

"What could she do?"

"You'd be surprised, Ramona. The things that she's capable of-"

"I don't want to hear it. If that's what I have to do, then I'll do it." She glances at the detective as a silver car passes down the street between them. "But I don't know how I can justify myself when I can't tell him." A pause from the most powerful man in the world.

"Just tell him you love him or something," She could feel the eye roll. "Just make it believable." Her heart drops.

"How can you say that?"

"I'm sorry?"

"You're telling me to lie to him even more!" Ramona hisses, keeping a watchful eye on Sherlock.

"Wouldn't you rather he was kept in the dark? I'm under the impression that you want to conserve that little life of yours." She bites her lip thoughtfully, as Sherlock approaches her, a grim expression on his face.

"Yeah, I won't be able to make it tomorrow." She pauses. "See you later." Ramona hangs up, and faces Sherlock, now feeling even more guilty for lying to him. How would he react if he ever found out?

* * *

"From now until we catch him, you'll be taking my word as gospel." He sits in the chair opposite her in the living room of the flat. She had been lost in her own very confusing train of constant thoughts, her mind now feeling red raw from stress.

"Sorry?"

"Meaning you'll do everything I tell you to, up to the letter, or I'll have no choice but to keep you in the police station. You won't leave my sight until he's put in jail, either."

"You can't be serio-" She tried to pass the obvious danger present to her as nothing that she was too bothered about, although she was petrified at the thought of going out anyway, and being able to see Sherlock made her feel safe.

"Deadly." Her eyes widened at his expression, as if he was plotting murder. "If we get split up for any reason, put my number on speed dial." She swallows, slightly frozen, cheeks beginning to heat as he looked at her expectingly. "Do it now." She glances at him awkwardly.

"Um, okay, doing that _right now_." She takes her phone out and pretends to do what he said.

"I'm already on speed dial." He says quickly, and she looks away, the heat and her pulse contributing to an overheating body.

"Don't flatter yourself." A satisfied smirk lights up his face for a second, before snapping back to a deathly Sherlock.

"No contact with the outside world, either. No internet, phone calls, texts, not even any letters." Her eyes are filled with horror. He only found it slightly amusing.

"No internet? Why am I being punished? Isn't this just what he wants? Do you-"

"Ramona, shut up." His tone was lighthearted, but there was an undertone of forbodeing to it. Her mouth snapped shut. "I'm doing this for your own good, I'm sure twitter won't die if you don't talk about where you ate for a few months-"

"A few _months!" _

"Oh, I'm sorry, are you _bored_ of your eyes?" He was taking this seriously. She sighed and leaned back into her chair.

"Fine, fine." She says, defeated. "There's just one problem with this." He raised an eyebrow.

"Oh?"

"Yeah, we're going to be forced to be together for what looks like the long haul." His eyes widen slightly. "We won't have any cool-down period, and _you_ may end up killing me instead."

"We'll just have to take that risk, won't we?" She hated that she felt reassured by Sherlock's precautions and concern.

* * *

**Sorry for the slow update!**

**I'm even cashing in on the silver lining on the cloud which is an obsessed murderer, which is always nice**

**Thank you so much for reading, any reviews make my day!**


	40. Best Friend

**Best Friend - Foster The People**

* * *

"-The fourth day of the heatwave, consecutively setting records of the hottest day of the year, getting hotter each day, and we're actually starting to see businesses being understaffed because of this." A middle aged man on the television states.

"This phenomenon is taking place throughout the country, with large numbers of employees everywhere calling in sick to go out and enjoy the rare weather." Ramona shoots him an accusatory look.

"See? Most people are enjoying this." Ramona spoke over the regulated posh voices. Sherlock was in only his pyjama bottoms yet again, this time lying across the sofa in complete disregard for anything other than trying not to overheat.

"Most people don't have an obsessive-" He looks over, opening his eyes. "A little dignity, perhaps?" She's laying in a star shape on the floor in gym shorts and a white crop top.

"I want to be where the people are!" she quotes dramatically.

"That's a first."He remarks, looking back up at the ceiling.

"D'you think I'm actually going to be kidnapped in broad daylight?"

"It's actually cleverer to kidnap someone in the daytime, even if there are witnesses, they can't believe that someone would be so stupid, so they don't do anything." John's gun lay on top of Sherlock's desk. He would have it in his hand, but he knew how she hated them.

On the wall, there was a collection of possible clues and suspects that her and Sherlock had spent all night putting together. There was a map of London, with all the locations in which pictures had been taken. There was no pattern, no highly frequented areas, basically just a map of everywhere she had been in the last eight months, which was intrusive in its own special way.

"It's disturbing that you've thought that out." Ramona gets up, and opens a book on the living room table, not really reading. "You can't be saying that you don't think this is dull." She mulls over the well worn pages.

"I'm perfectly happy, as long as-" She gives him a look, and he stops, and sighs. "Okay, I'm bored out my mind, I suspect my brain may be shrinking from the heat, and Janine won't stop-" At this, he gets a text and replies instantly.

"Twenty six, new high score and it's only midday, we should do something to celebrate." a sarcastic remark is blurted out.

"It's thrilling that you've been counting." She rolls her eyes, and looks at the clue wall. "There's something missing, I know." He says, without looking away from his phone.

"Yeah, like the right suspect." He opens his mouth to say something, but suddenly, they hear the letterbox snap downstairs. Their eyes lock, sharing a look, before Ramona races down the stairs.

* * *

"An antiques fair?" Ramona asks, slightly confused. In a plain, hand delivered black envelope there had been an invitation for an antiques fair in Soho.

"I'm not sure what the message behind it is, but-" Sherlock says, pulling on his suit jacket, and tucking the gun into the back of his waistband. She studies the letter again. "Oh. Oh, that's clever."

"It is?"

"The glass eyes." She thinks for a second, and then gets it. She was noticing her brain kicking back into gear again, slowly but surely.

"That's disgusting." She turns up her nose. "So we're looking for a taxidermist?"

"Possibly." Ramona pulls on a bomber jacket in one swift motion.

"None of this makes a lot of sense, you know." She mulls, looking over the flyer with narrow eyes. "Why would you send an invitation to us like this? It's the most transparent trap I could think of."

"It's boring trying to play a game when the other players don't know the rules." He replied, and they left the flat, the heat becoming lighter, but just as worse as they got out into the open.

* * *

The fair was held in a large hall, with a surprisingly large turnout of more middle aged and young people than old, so they mostly fit in with the crowd. Walking around, Ramona found she was at a bit of a loss at what to do.

"No fingerprints, or any sort of DNA at the scene, eyes replaced with glass ones..." She mused, basically to herself, her gaze drifting across beautiful sets of antique jewellry with expensive price tags. _Then again, it's not like I can't afford it_. Guilt struck her from nowhere at the reminder, and all she could picture was Sherlock's face, as he found out she took money from his brother to keep an eye on him.

They walked along the busy pathway between stalls, Ramona nearly passing out from so much money that some people were willing to pay for a desk just because it was Victorian.

"Anything?" She asked, feeling oddly disappointed that she hadn't encountered a murderer yet.

"Nope." He pops the p and she smiles at him, obviously lost in thought and asleep at the wheel of his body, now on cruise control. They walk on, and Ramona looks around the faces, before almost screaming.

"Oh my god..." She whispers to herself, Sherlock not hearing. _He had to be here, didn't he? _

The consulting detective looks around with an unimpressed gaze, and Ramona's eyes widen, trying to divert his attention.

"Sherlock!" She exclaims, slightly too loud to be normal. He looks down at her with questioning in his expression. "We should get this!" She randomly pointed under her hand, and he raises his eyebrows. "For the flat." He looked slightly amused.

"A shrunken head?" Her facade falters momentarily and she looks down, seeing that she was pointing to exactly that. Ramona's mouth parts in a loss of words, saying the first thing that popped into her head.

"In case the skull gets lonely." He chuckles lightly and looks around again to her dismay, and sees Sherlock's whole posture change as he sees Kain, with another woman.

"Ramona." He says, pointing to the man in question. She looks around, pretending not to see him.

"What?" Her fake voice asks.

"Would you like me to ambush him, or cause a scene right here? 'Cause I'm more than willing for either option." Her eyes widen and she lets out an uneasy laugh.

"Neither, actually. How old do you think these are?" She said, turning back to the shrunken head.

"I've got a lot of big favours I've yet to call with a lot of bad people, if you'd prefer it that way." His intense pale eyes haven't turned from Kain, and she's surprised he's not set alight by all that aggravation in one body.

"I'd say, two, three hundred years?" He frowned and turned to her, his expression softening slightly.

"Chosen ignorance? Really?"

"It's really nothing, I-"

"Sherlock?" They freeze and turn to the voice, to find that it was a tanned John, accompanied by Mary.

"What are you doing here?" Sherlock asked.

"You hate these kind of things." Ramona added. John frowned in confusion, going to speak.

"What's this all about?" Kains voice from behind her made her freeze yet again, as she heard Sherlock exhale slowly, an angry shudder in his breath.

The woman beside him had a crimson bob in a middle parting, the whitest teeth you could ever wish to see, freckled flooding her delicate skin, very thin, and to top it off, she looked as if she had stepped straight off the cover of some high fashion magazine. Ramona felt dwarfed next to her, wearing minimal makeup, hair which had seen one stroke of a hairbrush and an outfit that had been picked for the weather instead of her appearance.

"I don't know, what _is _this all about?" Sherlock's jaw was somehow tense as the atmosphere suddenly was as he spoke. "Care to enlighten us?" Their gazes lock, and Kain raised his eyebrows and looked at Ramona.

"The heat. Makes him go a bit." She tapped her temple with a finger.

"Why are you so casual when you just caught him-" She slapped a hand over his mouth and he jerked back from her touch, looking fully confused.

"There's nothing broken here, because nothing was built in the first place." Her riddle leaves him stumped for a second, before his expression turned to unhidden disdain, looking from her to him, and rolling his eyes.

"Sorry, am I missing something here?" Sherlock looked her up and down quickly.

"Definitely." He states casually, with one of his fake, too wide grins. The woman's mouth parts in shock, not sure what to make of the insult that was certainly unneeded, and then they all seemed to get it at the same time, everyone's eyes drifting to her chest. Ramona grits her teeth and steps on Sherlock's shoe, grinding her heel subtly into where his toes were. He lets out a small grunt of pain buts stays still as she attempts to recover the situation.

"As in, why are we all here?"

"You're saying..." Mary begins, and the Baker street pair frown in unison. "That you didn't send this invitation?" She holds them up, and they're practically identical to the ones they had received. They share a look of knowing.

"You got one?" She asks Kain, as he nods in return, expression blank.

"Oh, this is bad." Sherlock mutters, as two pairs of blue eyes lock gazes and have another one of their telepathic debates, expressions changing every other second.

"Extremely." She agrees. There's a pause.

"I'm sorry, could you please explain just what the hell is going on?" They snap out of it and turn to John.

"It's fine, you just may have gotten that from a psychotic murderer." Sherlock answers. Mary's mouth falls open.

"I'm sorry?"

"And Ramona's stalker, but we'll save that for another day."

"What?" Ramona sighs and begins talking.

"I have a stalker, that may also be a murderer, that may also be trying to show off." Everyone looks stunned.

"He can easily access anyone we care about, another intimidation." Sherlock adds, mostly to himself.

"You care about me?" Kain asks, a grin on his face. "I'm flattered." His eyes roam over Ramona eagerly, making her feel uncomfortable.

"Don't be." Sherlock shuts him down. "You should all know-" He looks to the woman. "Apart from you, you can go." She looks around for support against the rude man, which she gets from no one.

"He's just joking." Ramona tells her, the beautiful woman looking understandably embarrassed.

Anyway, There's someone after Ramona, and therefore me." Her eyes widen ever so slightly, and tries to ignore her jumping heartbeat. "You're all collateral damage and possible hostages, so try to lay low until he's caught, if you favour having eyes at all."She suddenly felt a little ill at the thought of the corpse.

"Oh my god!" The woman hisses, as Kain looked down at her with warning behind his falsely kind eyes. "I'm gonna be the first they go for, I mean, look at me!" She whispers, not too subtly. Ramona looked at her with a feigned polite smile, hiding disdain probably not too well.

"Yeah, he wasn't joking." She leans in to the woman two inches taller than her. "You should probably leave now."

"It'll increase the IQ of the room if you do." Sherlock added, although looking at Kain as he said it. Ramona feels they've probably overstepped the line in leaps and bounds, as the woman reaches over quickly to land an expert slap on the side of the detective's face, with a crack like a whip.

* * *

"Didn't go too well." Ramona said, pressing her lips together to avoid bursting into hysterics as she initially had. His mouth quirked into a smirk for a second.

They had arrive back at the flat.

"You could say that." Her nose flared for a split second with a hidden giggle.

"It was the way she," She motioned a slap with her hand, and began laughing again, and he chuckled begrudgingly.

"Wasn't that funny." He said, as she took off her jacket and went to her room. Inside, she freezes, a sudden fear striking through her, seeming to reach every inch of her nervous system.

"Sherlock!" She shouts, hand still on the door, as he paces to stand behind her, and raises an eyebrow.

She approached her bed cautiously, towards the perfectly smooth black envelope placed almost decoratively on top.

Ramona ripped the top off the envelope unceremoniously, and screamed in surprise when a colossal spider crawled out onto her hand. She shook her hand in reflex and disgust, and it flew off her onto the floor, scuttling under her bed. He watched with a small amount of amusement at her irrational fear of arachnids. She whimpered and jumped up onto her dressing table chair as to avoid the spider now lost somewhere in her bedroom.

She quickly realised there was something else in the envelope. She turned it upside down with her hand under the opening, and a pair of lace blue knickers fell into her palm. Ramona instantly recognised them as a pair of hers, more importantly, a pair that she kept at Kain's.

"Yours?" Sherlock said, a bit too quickly. She nodded, a bit embarrassed.

"They're really hammering it home, aren't they?" She got down and went over to her bedside table, putting the knickers into her underwear draw, and shutting it with her foot.

"He even knows about your arachnophobia."

"And he got into Kain's high-rise, which is absolutely ridiculous." She mulled, screwing up the black paper, as his eyes narrow.

"How didn't I notice someone'd broken in?" His voice was mostly annoyed, with a hint of worry, which was only detectable once you knew Sherlock for long enough.

She watched as he walked to her window and checked the windowsill for a break in dust, which was there, in an amount enough to embarrass her. His eyes singled out the small remnants of dirt on the floor underneath it, from her window box, which consisted mostly of lavender this time of year. She remembers something, and feels almost guilty.

"I might have opened my window last night." He turns to her with a disbelieving look. "I wasn't really expecting anyone to scale my wall and crawl in and then somehow take me with them via the window without you hearing."

Sherlock was getting irritated easily recently, which was the outcome of a lot of factors, to name a few, the fact that he hadn't slept a wink in at least four days and was keeping himself running on coffee and an empty stomach, another reason the risk posed to his flatmate, along with being stumped in the way of suspects, and finally the relentless heat, all formed a dream team of grouchiness, which ultimately led to a grumpy Sherlock. He slammed the window shut passive aggressively, in a way that made her wardrobe shake.

"You shouldn't open your mouth without my permission anymore, let alone windows." He ordered, his now intense gaze burning holes into Ramona's wide eyes. Nothing seemed to be able to get him wound up the way her carelessness could.

"It's a heatwave, Sherlock. The flat already feels like a sauna, and it's only worse at night." He rolled his eyes, and walked over to leave her bedroom, before turning back around at the door, halfway out.

"Use my bed, seeing as I'm not going to use it anytime soon." His bedroom had smaller windows, ones that would be physically impossible for anyone who was six foot to climb into. He left her stood in her bedroom, that suddenly didn't feel as safe as it used to.

* * *

**Anyone starting to piece anything together, or too vague and/or far fetched? Mind you, that's a clue in itself**

**Sorry for the slower than usual update, school's extremely taxing at the moment **

**Thanks so much for reading :) And thank you for everyone who's motivated me with a review!**


	41. Fever

**Fever - The Black Keys**

* * *

_"How could you do this?!" Sherlock's voice rang eerily, deeper and angrier than ever, a look of complete rage his vivid face. _

_"What are you-" She says, confused and worried. _

_"Don't play dumb!" He spits. "You were spying on me for my brother for money." He shakes his head vehemently. _

_"N-No, Sherlock, it wasn't like that-" She says desperately, taking a few steps towards him, seeing her paler than usual arm stretch out in front of her, trying to get a hold of him. _

_"Don't touch me!" He shouts, his eyes burning with utter hatred. "You lied to me-" She was shaking her head slowly, feeling tears brim. "Everything you said was a lie!" _

_"Please, Sherlock-"_

_"I trusted you!" Every inch of his body was radiating with disgust, as he looked down on her, taller than usual, looking at her as if she were little more than vermin. "I hate you, and I never want to see your face again. You're a fake, moronic, attention seeking, disgusting piece of filth, and I hope you die!" She tries to approach him, but he pushes her back forcefully, leaving her on her knees, sobbing, watching him walk away. _

_"Sherlock!"_

* * *

"Sherlock!" An involuntary raspy half scream is let out, and she shoots up in bed, drenched in sweat, tears streaming down her face. Ramona looks around, her heartbeat the only thing she could hear, and recognises Sherlock's dark bedroom. she sighs, wipes her face tiredly, and lets herself fall back on the pillow with a hard exhale. It had been one of the worst nightmares she'd had, and she couldn't shake the foretelling feeling it gave off, as she tried to deepen her breaths.

"What?" A slice of light cut into the dark room. and she looked to her left to see a consulting detective in pyjamas, concern awash over his features. Guilt makes her look away.

"Nightmare." She says, surprisingly breathless through her short breaths, wishing he would leave so that the lateral guilt would. Ramona stares at the duvet, and hears a sigh, before he sits by her knees on the side of the bed.

"What about?" Her eyes widen, and she tries to cover her distress.

"Just nonsense, it doesn't matter." She shakes her head dismissively, and there's a moment of silence, where she prays he won't see through her.

"People normally have water after a nightmare, don't they?" He says decidedly, going to leave. For some reason she panicked, and grabbed his wrist.

"It's fine, I'll get it myself." He gives only a confused frown as she got up, and stumbled a bit with the head rush, before making the bed neatly, and padding barefoot down the hallway and into the kitchen.

Putting a finger under the tap and waiting for the water to turn ice cold, she saw Sherlock's violin resting on his chair.

"Been playing?"

"Yep." Her vision becomes less hazy, as she downs the shockingly freezing water, giving a shudder as she felt it rush down her throat and tickle the walls of her stomach. Ramona studies him for a second, realising the top of his cheeks were flushed, probably from the humidity. "Composing, actually." He puts a hand through his curls, pushing it back so it was even more of a hot mess. She nods slowly as her heart loses its footing in her chest.

"I see." It seemed her heart rate wouldn't slow, as she caught his eyes studying every part of her briefly, suddenly feeling like a subject in her light summer pyjamas.

"You should get some sleep, Sherlock." He scoffed went over to the cupboard that she had ceremoniously dubbed the 'fat cupboard', which featured an extensive and impressive array of pastries, cakes, chocolate, sweets, and everything in between that she insisted on having in the flat, in case she had a sudden craving in the middle of the night.

"I'm finding it surprisingly hard, seeing as there's a murder with a talent for house breaking on the loose." He remarks sarcastically, retrieving a muffin, and taking a casual bite, shutting the cupboard door with his foot as he swung around. She shrugged, and their eyes lock, as his brow creases slightly at the unusual look in her eye.

"I'll stay up for a bit, not that tired anymore." She states, going into the living room, and looking over the books on the shelves, deciding what she wanted to re-read.

"No complaining about my playing, then." He says, his voice slightly muffled by muffin. Another shrug, and she went to sit on the couch.

"How's Janine, then?"

"Hm? Oh, alright, probably." He pauses and shrugs. "On a diet."

"Because of you." She replies.

"Yeah." There's silence, as he walks over to the living room. Mrs Hudson had been away the entire heatwave, down south by the coast with a boyfriend. She pretends to read for a second, and then turns to him, deciding she wasn't getting anywhere.

"Do you..." He didn't look at her, as he started to tune his violin delicately. "Love her?" She frowned at the sound of her own voice, swallowing. "I mean, do you see the two of you going somewhere?"

"We're in a great place at the moment." He says, almost like a rehearsed line, not looking away from the strings, as he pinged one. "It's very..." He strums another string, tightening it slightly. He seems to lose his words as he moves onto another string, and a minute passes.

"Sherlock?" Calling him back down to earth was a task you could take pleasure in, Ramona had decided, as watching the ascent to his own little world was one you could see in every little movement. It was like watching a complicated film; you saw something different every time. This time, Ramona noticed the muscle in his arm and shoulder relax even more. When he gave no answer, and began to play, she shrugged, turning to her book, wondering what he would of said. _What does a great place mean to Sherlock Holmes, anyway?_

The tune was serenading and slow, making her hair stand on end as he gazed out of the window, his eyes blank but more calculating than ever. The song wasn't sad, it just seemed that there was a surprising amount of feeling in it. She felt it was one that you could fall asleep to, and she thought that in the most complimentary matter possible. Trying to focus on a lot of big words in a small font in a dim room became too much, and she found that after a while, the hand that propped the book before her let go of it of its own free will, landing it splayed on her chest. Ramona's arm dropped, and her eyes closed lazily, beginning to drift out to the shore of sleep. Sherlock looked over with a gentle smile, and began to walk closer towards her, playing a lullaby for the woman that asked too many questions.

And then, the violin screeched in an unholy manner, awaking her from the hypnosis with a startled shock and her heart in her throat.

She looked around, and found a slumped Sherlock stood in front of her, sweat visible on a face flushed red, and shocked wide eyes, not believing he could have slipped up.

"Are you...?" She asked, her voice trailing off. He looked up, his face visibly embarrassed. She took a second, and concern quickly took over her. The sun was rising, and bright light was beginning to seep into the flat. "Okay?"

"I... I-" She realised he was shivering, despite the heat of his surroundings, and his own body, which was swaying in an clockwise direction. Sherlock looked confused, to the point it looked as if he didn't recognise his surroundings. She got up quickly and took the violin and bow from his unclasped hands which were barely holding on, laying them carefully behind her on the leather sofa.

She turned back around, and studied his face, his normally crystal clear eyes now hazy, and lidded. Ramona put a hand to his forehead, and her eyes widened, feeling the heat on his clammy skin. He let out an exhale of what was either relief or surrender, and his legs suddenly gave way, falling to his knees in front of her. She was ridiculously worried at this point, forcing herself to remain calm for his sake. She got on her knees and held the back of his head, forcing him to look at her.

"Sherlock?" She asked, not sure what to say, voice visibly strained, as she brushed thick black hair out of his eyes. "Try to stand, okay?" He nodded, his brow creased deeply, in frustration and bewilderment. Ramona realised that the world must be spinning around him at a speed.

The consulting detective got up with her help, leaning onto her, as she guided him to his room, managing to haul his surprisingly heavy body onto the bed.

"You've got a fever, that's obvious." She says, wishing she'd paid more attention in Health and Social. She had to take care of him, but this wasn't the type of care she was used to giving. "My area's more fighting than healing, so bear with me." She racked her brain for something, and finally found a few useful bits of information from her childhood. "Alright, your temperature isn't anything life threatening, so there's no need to call the doctor, but..." Her speech transformed into an internal monologue.

* * *

Ramona reappeared in the bedroom, armed with an array of things, among these weapons was a cotton face towel that had been soaked in ice cold water for a few minutes. Sherlock had had enough collection of himself to take off his top, and was now lying on top any covers on the bed, only wearing his pyjama bottoms, with the top of black designer boxers visible on his hipbones, which she quickly averted her eyes from as she approached him, desperately trying to think innocent thoughts.

She combed his hair completely off his face with her fingers, taking a bit too much satisfaction in how his hair was surprisingly soft, before putting the cold face cloth across his forehead, as he gazed up at her with a parted mouth, his breaths uneven, but relaxed slightly with relief at the cool material on his skin. She went over to the window and opened it as wide as it would go.

"It'll only be twenty-four hours, so take that time to reflect on what you've done." She sounded firm, but couldn't bring herself to fully reinforce her words. It was obvious he didn't have time to talk, so had to listen to her.

"You'll be drinking water every day from now on, eating relatively healthily and regularly, and sleeping generally normal hours at least every other day." She ordered, gesturing to a glass of cold water and an ibuprofen on his bedside table. "Take that when you're up to it, stops the hypothalamus from raising the body temperature." It was strange to think that Sherlock had a proper functioning system in his body, which must be screaming from neglect. _The fact that it can't keep up with his mind must infuriate him, and this must be slightly humiliating for the surprisingly vain guy_.

"And not as much black coffee." She studied him. "You'll give yourself an early heart attack." Ramona walked over to the detective, who until recently had thought himself invincible, leaning over slightly to get a look at his face, hands joined behind her back. "Got it?" A gentle smile in her eyes.

His hand reached up, and grabbed her shirt, pulling her face closer to his. She couldn't tell if he was being menacing or trying to say something, so she didn't protest, feeling the heat radiating from him. Their eyes were locked, his currently unreadable, which wasn't rare.

"Thank you." Sherlock murmurs, his baritone so close to her that it could send a shiver down her spine. Ramona's eyes all but lit up at the gratitude, although she tried to keep it under wraps, as to not boost his ego.

"Thank _you _for being so unusually compliant." He released her, with a smile, and sat up against the headboard slowly, reaching over and taking the ibuprofen with a mouthful of water, before realising he had forgotten how good water tasted, downing the large glass, and setting it back down. "I could get used to a submissive Sherlock." Her eyes widened slightly at the comment she had made, which could be viewed as sexual, and started to think some very bad things, looking away in guilt and embarrassment, wondering if he could tell.

"Not like I have much choice." He remarks, unknowingly innocent as ever, as she sits on the bed next to him, legs crossed.

"Want me to stay in here with you? I brought a couple of books, your phone, laptop and chargers, and-" She giggled slightly, a grin on her face. "I could get a couple of board games, if you'd like." He smiled weakly at her, his brow slightly creased, with a look in his eyes she had never seen before. She was slightly taken aback by it, as if it had not been Sherlock, Ramona would have pinned the look as intense pining._ Is the fever making him unstable, or is it revealing things? _She quickly shook this train of thought she had been down many times, remembering nothing could ever happen anyway. For starters, he had a girlfriend, secondly, he was Sherlock Holmes, and thirdly, she was Ramona Doherty.

"Could you read?" She raised her eyebrows in slight shock. Sherlock had never been a fan of fiction, dubbing them a waste of time, to her annoyance. "To me, I mean." Ramona practically fell off the bed in surprise, deciding the fever had definitely messed with his brain.

"Y-yeah, okay, um..." She bit her lip as he watched her carefully. "I might stutter a bit, but try not to get too annoyed." Ramona picked up a book she had chosen. "Have you read this?" She showed it to him.

"I've never read a fiction book on my own free will." She shook her head in mock disgust.

"It's A Tale Of Two Cities, by Charles Dickens." He looked skeptical. "Trust me, Sherlock. If my memory serves, which it does, it's about Doctor Manette, a political prisoner in the Bastille, finally released after eighteen years, and he's reunited with his daughter in England. Two polar opposite men, one of which is Sydney Carton, a brilliant but infamous English Lawyer, and an exiled French aristocrat, Charles Darnay, both fall in love with Doctor Manette's daughter, Lucie Manette. From London, they go against their will to Paris, at the height of the Reign of Terror, and soon fall under the shadow of La Guillotine." She was admittedly getting a bit too into it, but Sherlock looked vaguely interested, so she supposed she had gotten her point across.

He goes to lie down again, turning his head to watch her speak. She felt the pressure of his criticism and started to list all the snide comments he could make, and her tongue suddenly felt like an anvil in her mouth, as it dried with nerves. She was worried she'd forgotten how to read, as she opened the first page, and began reciting it to him, with as much diction as her common self could muster.

"It was the best of times, it was the worst of times, it was the age of wisdom, it was the age of foolishness, it was the epoch of belief, it was the epoch of incredulity," She gauged for a reaction, and could see he was listening intently. "It was the season of Light, it was the season of Darkness, it was the spring of hope, it was the winter of despair, we had everything before us, we had nothing before us, we were all going direct to Heaven, we were all going direct the other way -" Sherlock turned to the ceiling, and closed his eyes, letting her voice be his guide to navigating the narration. "In short, the period was so far like the present period, that some of its noisiest authorities insisted on its being received, for good or for evil, in the superlative degree of comparison only."

Ramona read for what must have been an hour, before stopping, realising he had fallen asleep, putting a hand to his forehead and seeing his temperature was stil at the same level. What had she really expected?

"Why'd you stop?" He asked, eyes still closed, making her jump. She laughed a little.

"Thought you'd fallen asleep. I'll carry on, if you want." He nodded, and she smiled down at him. Her back was beginning to ache from the position, so she propped herself up against the headboard of his bed, and continued from where they had left.

It got to twelve o'clock, and they were halfway through the classic, as Ramona couldn't read nearly as fast out loud as she could in her head, and she wanted to make sure he could follow the story. She memorised the page number and put the book down.

"Alright, you need to eat."

"Aren't you supposed to starve a fever?"

"You're burning more calories because of that fever, so if anything, you need to be eating more and better than normal to not just keep yourself from being hungry, but also to help your immune system." She shook her head. "What did they teach you at school?" He chuckled.

"The value of X always came up more than anything actually useful." His eyes opened.

"What'll it be, then?" She said, smiling. He turns to her, his expression relatively blissful.

"Surprise me." Her heart dances unevenly in her chest for a moment, before she nods and gets up, going into the kitchen.

_I wonder how long it'll be before he realises I've got feelings for him. Wait, I have feelings for Sherlock?!_ She stops in her tracks, her mouth wide open in horror._ Oh god, I do. He's going to figure it out, he's going to make me move out in case I interfere with his work, either that or I'll have to suffer in silence, or even worse, I'll tell him. _Ramona physically cringed at the thought of him rebuffing her advances, and quickly makes a pact to hide everything.

Ramona quickly found out that they didn't have anything good in, since Mrs Hudson was away. She sighed and went to check on him, opening the door gently, to see he had fallen into a deep sleep. Then, a thought came to her. She worked out that she could go food shopping, and with all the sleep debt he'd accumulated, do it leisurely, too. Ramona grinned, feeling giddy but extremely guilty, topping up the glass of water, and leaving a note for him in case he woke up and putting the gun on top of it with an expression of disgust, not wanting him to worry, taking her phone with her, locking all the windows and doors apart from his bedroom window, and left, feeling as if she was betraying him.

* * *

Walking back from the supermarket two blocks away from the flat in the heat that was now more heavy humidity than anything else, that was at its peak now at one pm, with five heavy shopping bags in each hand full with food that he'd surely recognise as new, and would get angry at her for. However she didn't care if she got scolded, as long as he was well fed.

"Coraile!" She nearly jumped out of her skin at the voice from in front of her. Unease filled Ramona, as this was the second time they had 'bumped' into each other on her street, as he came to greet her from the direction she was walking towards.

"Hello." She kept walking from Kain, who was now beside her.

"Need a little help?" He goes for the bags, and she moves away in time.

"I'm fine, thanks." He huffs.

"Why are you so hot and cold?" He asked her, annoyance in his voice. She frowned at the ground for a second.

"I'm not."

"You won't reply to my calls, my texts, any sort of messages, I even emailed you, and I don't think you have a fax." Ramona was starting to get extremely irritated by his surprisingly clingy nature.

"How did you know where I was?" Silence for a second.

"What do you mean?"

"I mean; It's one pm on a day like this, why are you here?"

"Am I not allowed to come see you?" He put an arm around her shoulder. "Now tell me, why are you blanking me?" She sighed, shifting slightly.

"I'm not, Sherlock's saying that since I've got a stalker, I should lay as low as possible until we can catch who it is."

"Why d'you let him boss you around?"

"What's with the interrogation?" His sharp jaw tensed.

"He's getting in our way, Coralie, I don't like him." She rolled her eyes and shook his arm off, to his discomfort.

"Currently, you're getting in _my _way." His constant need for domination was irking her to no end, especially when Sherlock was in the flat, alone.

"I know you love me, so why are you being like this?" She freezes and turns to him, brow creased, and his face was unreadable suddenly, his voice something she had never heard before.

"Sorry?"

"We're going to end up with each other, why cant you just admit it?" Ramona's eyes are wide with the sudden declaration.

"Look, I think you're misunderstanding a few things... We're completely casual, nothing more. I don't love you, and you don't love me, so we can just keep it that way, alright?" She could swear his eyes narrow with malicious intent for a second, and then he grins that same, happy grin, and then laughed in satisfaction.

"I'm joking, chill out." The strange sense of wariness passed, and she rolled her eyes at him, walking onwards and past him, as he jogged to keep up.

* * *

She crept back up the stairs and into the kitchen, and thankfully, the flat was as dead as when she had left. Ramona sighed in relief, and began quickly unpacking the haul that was going to leave her with serious arm strength.

The woman, now feeling a bit too much like Sherlock's mum, went to check on her patient, and smiled widely in satisfaction, seeing him in the same position he had been in when she left, still fast asleep, and then, terror gripped her in a way it never truly had before, holding her in it's tight vice.

There was a black envelope on his bedside table, next to the gun. Ramona quickly snatched it and got out of the room, before he saw it.

Walking back into the kitchen, she ripped it open in anger and frustration. Had they really been able to get through that small window? Was it even possible for a man of six foot? She held the envelope quite far away from her as she peered inside, and there was even more horror waiting for her inside.

A glass thermometer was inside, and as she pulled it out and held it in her hand, it had an ominous feeling to the otherwise innocent peice of medical equipment. How did they know that he had a fever? How had they known to place a thermometer inside? She had been gone only fifty three minutes, there was no way they could of gone inside, then out again, and-

_Unless they had given him the fever. _The thought rang through her over and over again, and she was suddenly extremely furious. Scaring and threatening her was one thing, but hurting Sherlock was inexcusable to her. The thermometer snaps into two in her hand.

* * *

"Chicken and vegetable soup." She declared, entering the surprisingly cool room, and feeling quite proud of the soup she had made completely from scratch.

"Thank you." He took the bowl from her.

"How are you feeling?" She asked, looking around his room for things that he had worn in the last forty eight hours.

"What are you doing?" Sherlock ignored her question, starting on the food.

"Looking for biological warfare." She remarks, ducking behind his door, taking the blue dressing gown and placing it over her arm. "I think this could be the work of my admirer."

"Unlikely, but not impossible."

"Anything else, sir?" She asks, with a hint of sarcasm.

"You could come over here and fill in for Janine." He says calmly, his voice slightly deeper than usual, and if she had been drinking something, it would have been spat out. Ramona freezes and looks at him with wide eyes, resembling a startled rabbit.

He starts chuckling, and she's now flustered, annoyed that he had that hold over her, the top of her cheeks reddening, as she rolls her eyes in frustration.

"Y-you've got your strength back, then." She stumbles slightly over her words.

"I enjoy making you flustered." She scowls as he shrugs ever so slightly. "It's a hobby of mine." Sherlock adds, still smiling in amusement.

"Oh, eat your soup!" She walks out of the room and closes the door gently behind her, with a bit back grin.

* * *

Two hours later, as Ramona was fixing herself a sandwich in the kitchen.

"And now, the weather where you are." The woman on television says, and the weather girl's voice can now be heard.

"The MET Office has issued a warning for storms across the country for tonight, the first beginning in around an hour and a half in London." Ramona's eyes widen. "The humidity we've been experiencing is going to mean a huge thunderstorm, which will then clear the air. People are advised to only go out if it is necessary tonight." She sighs in exasperation.

"Well, summer lasted longer than usual, at least." Ramona mutters to herself, her tone saturated with sarcasm.

Suddenly, Sherlock's bedroom door opens, revealing the detective himself, looking a bit out of it, but apart from that, completely fine, and dressed in his usual white shirt and trousers, and hands in his pockets. She frowned and walked up to him, shooing him back inside.

"Turn around." She orders. He raises an eyebrow.

"No." He had an incredulous tone.

"Turn around, get undressed, and get back into bed." His eyes widen slightly, as he studies her. "I wasn't asking." Ramona looks up, and his eyes are boring holes into her, with that stare that only she was ever subject to. He walks past her, and into the living room, hands still in his pockets, going to his desk and opening a draw.

* * *

**Shit's about to go down, guys, and not the good kind**

**Things will all probably come to a head next chapter, and then dissolve, and then we'll go to HLV :(**

**Thanks for reading, reviews are always cherished! **


	42. We Used To Wait

**We Used To Wait - Arcade Fire**

**I own nothing apart from my humble Ocs'**

* * *

"You know, Ramona, I've been doing some psychoanalysis to pass the time." He says, facing away from her.

"Great. Go psychoanalyse your bed sheets." She hears the sound of card being straightened, and becomes curious.

"You left the flat without me today." He deduces, tone free of emotion, as Ramona's heart plummets. She had been so careful, what had given her away?

"How did you know?"

"I didn't." He turns around, his eyes burning with rage. "It was an educated guess." Her eyes widen.

"Of course. Sherlock-" He took a step closer.

"I asked myself, why can't she just do as she's told?" Rain begins to patter gently on the window, and she bites her lip, heart starting to beat faster as he got closer. "Naturally, I looked into you a bit more." Her brow creased.

"But you know everything there is to know about me." She said, confused as to where he was going.

"I thought so, until I found this." He shows her the A4 piece of card, and she realised what it was.

"My birth certificate?" Her eyes roamed over the miserable white certificate, and drifted to the empty space where the fathers name should be.

"Yep." He turns it back around and looks at it again. "I kept asking myself why you were so reckless, with absolutely no sense of self preservation." Their eyes locked, by this point, he was silently seething with anger. "And then, I found this, and it all made sense." He took a step closer to the confused girl.

"Can you stop being so cryptic for just one second?"

"Then I'll be direct." His expression was one of so much passive aggressiveness, she knew something big was coming. "A tendency towards exhibitionism, get a thrill out of being promiscuous, always plying for my attention, and how clingy you get when I'm with Janine," He almost looked proud of himself. "All symptoms of Abandonment Issues."

Her jaw dropped in shock, anger suddenly flooding into her, infecting every inch of her being.

"Excuse me?" She hissed.

"You told me your parents were split up. But that's not the entire truth, is it?" Her knuckles were white, and her eyes began to sting ever so slightly with tears.

"Just stop." She sounded humiliated.

"You never knew your father." She looked down at the carpet, horrified. "It explains everything. you're constantly vying for a male's attention so much, that you regularly risk your life for it, because you're scared that you'll be left again."

"For god's sake Sherlock, you know that's not true!" She had never done anything for his attention, apart from the drunken mistake she had half made the night of the wedding.

"I predicted you'd be angry, but you're just proving my theory right, aren't you?" She shakes her head, vision blurry.

"Oh, I'm angry, Sherlock, but mostly, just disappointed." He raises an eyebrow at the admittedly almost cliche line. "Don't define me because of my past, especially not circumstances I had not control over!"

"Ramona, you're misinterpreting what-"

"I never thought you could be _this _mean, Sherlock." His mouth parted at her voice, starting to waver with tears, and there was a pause.

"I..."

"My real father refuses to even acknowledged my existence, and I'll never know why!" The rain was starting to get faster, and she knew that if she blinked, tears would fall. "All I know, is that my mum was disowned because of me and my sister, and that my dad's life practically fell apart because of us! How do you think that feels? To have systematically ruined your parents lives, just by being born!" Sherlock's brow was creased, he looked horrified. "And what gives _you _the right to talk to me like that?!" She pointed at him, full of nothing but scorching hot rage.

"You, the person that's come from a happy home. Sherlock Holmes, the man with his parents still in love. The one with the caring older brother, the one with house in the country, the one with the higher education that was always guaranteed to him, the one that's never had to worry about money, classism, or poverty, once in his entire life!"

Sherlock was stunned with this outburst, unsure as to what to say.

"Ramona," Her name wrapped around his baritone normally brought her so much satisfaction, but it was different this time.

"Don't." She says quietly, looking down, closing her eyes briefly, and putting a hand over her eyes, not letting him see the tears that fell straight to the floor. "Just don't." She steeled herself, and looked back up at him, and he realises he's definitely crossed the line.

She took her phone from the kitchen counter, along with her purse, and went to go.

"You can't seriously be leaving, there's a storm coming." She looked at him, and then out of the window, the sky completely covered in deep grey, heavy clouds, rain starting to fall harder, and they both heard a rumble of thunder.

"You're right." She locked his gaze. "There is." She slammed the door, and ran down the stairs, locking the door behind her, and going to the only place she could forget about him.

* * *

"Hello." She said blankly, dripping with water, as there was another deep rumble of thunder, the type that you could feel in your chest.

"Hi." Kain greeted her, with a happy smile, and gestured for her to come in, as she stood in the open plan flat, both the now very wet city and the bulging clouds visible from the glass wall.

"Is it alright if I stay over?" He chuckled, as he walked over.

"No problem at all." She turned to him, as he started to play with the hem of her top. Why did it make her feel uncomfortable?

"Maybe we could... Not do that?" His eyes widened slightly in shock, and he looks up to meet her eyes, his giving nothing away.

"Really?" She raises an eyebrow at his disbelieving tone, before a grin lit up his face. "Okay, I'll get you a towel." He says, before disappearing into the bathroom.

* * *

Ramona woke up in his bedroom in her underwear, rain beating down on the glass, and thunder could be heard at least every two minutes. She turned over and saw that he wasn't there. Looking up and down the bed, she saw a large figure, standing at the end of the bed, a light illuminating it's face. Her heart jumped in fear as a flash of lightning illuminated the room briefly, and she made out that it was Kain.

"What are you doing?" Ramona reached out for her phone, and saw that it wasn't there. She looked back up to him.

"Why d'you text each other so much?" Her voice was groggy from sleep, her brain fuzzy.

"What?"

"Sherlock Holmes." Ramona was now wide awake. "Why'd you talk to him so much?" She rolled her eyes and got on her knees, shuffling forward and putting her hand out.

"Why are you going through my texts? That's both weird and invasive." He suddenly looked angry.

"Have you got something to hide?" His menacing voice shocked her, and she cowered slightly.

"Of course not, because we're not serious."

"No, we are." She narrowed her eyes for a second, and then got out of the bed.

"I think I'll go home if you're going to be like this."

There was suddenly a hand around her wrist, tightening and tightening.

"Get back into bed, and go to sleep." an ominous voice.

"Kain?" She was starting to feel frightened.

"Go back to sleep." Her wrist was screaming in pain.

"You're hurting me-"

He pushed her back onto the bed forcefully, and crawled on top of her, setting her phone down.

"Shut up." Ramona tried to scuttle away, but he grabbed both of her wrists and pinned them either side of her head, his strength paramount to the pain.

"Kain-" Her voice was shaky with fear.

"You're not going anywhere." His voice was dark and angry, as he leaned in and kissed her, in a way that was filled more aggression than anything else, to which she grimaced and tried to pull out of it. Anxiety started to wrack in her chest, and she calculated how much danger she was in.

"Get off me!" She cried, as he pulled back. His mouth turned upwards in a sickening smirk, and Ramona's eyes widened in terror as he began to push her legs apart. She was kicking at him and trying to pull her body away from his with all her force, and she now felt like she had little more than a kitten's strength.

"Stop playing so hard to get." He said with a growl, as her eyes filled with tears, and her breath became ragged, as she realised the probability of what was going to happen.

"I'll scream." She threatened, her voice merely above a whisper.

"Be my guest." She took in a large breath, and let out a blood curdling scream, only to have a large hand slapped over her mouth mid shout. She looked up at his smiling eyes, as if he liked it when she resisted with all of her force, desperately looking around for an escape.

Her legs couldn't move from his weight of muscle, she couldn't scream because of his hand, and her hands wouldn't reach him as he pushed her body into the once comfortable bed. Ramona let out a petrified sob and tried to shake her head as he inched his body closer and-

Her phone danced atop the bedside table, buzzing and ringing and lighting up. His grip loosened as he looked around for a second, and it was enough for her to get out from under him quicker than she had ever moved, knowing that she was shaking. Ramona got dressed in a flash as Kain declined the call and then looked back up as she was buttoning up her jeans.

"What are you doing?" She takes a calming breath, and composes herself.

"I don't think we should do this anymore, it's not healthy." His face falls and he gets up.

"You can't mean that."

"What just happened... If I hadn't had got a call, you would have kept going-"

"I was just joking!" His face looks disbelieving.

"Well it wasn't funny!" She quickly leans in to grab her phone and puts it in her back pocket. "I was in tears, Kain!" He looked down for a second.

"It's dangerous out there, wait until the morning-"

"It can't possibly be as dangerous as in here!" She could feel the anxiety of being so close to someone that could overpower her so easily weigh heavily on her chest, as he came closer.

"I'm sorry, I got carried away-"

"You're disgusting! Do you have no idea what no means? Even a dog can understand simple commands!"

"You wont leave tonight, Coralie." An undertone of warning in his voice chilled her, and she began walking to the door, as he stood in front of it. She frowned and looked up at him, a strange mix of fear, anger and desperation fueling her.

"Delete my number, you're not the person I knew." She said, and realised she had struck a nerve. He sighed angrily, went over to a draw, got something out of it and came back.

She was terrified at this point. Who was the man standing in front of her, the one that had left her so brutally, and was now trying to control her? Come to think of it, he did always pop up innocently at places she was coincidentally, what about the time he helped her with the shopping bags, the time he knew where she worked and then loitered until she was finished, what happened just yesterday, and when he- _oh my god. _

Her eyes widen and she begins stepping backwards as he stalks towards her, a crazed look in his eyes, one that she had never seen.

She runs into the living room of the flat and straight to the door, rattling the locked door with all her might.

Ramona hears slow footsteps, as casual as they are, and runs to the opposite wall, trying to open the sliding doors onto the balcony, which were of course, locked, as she turns back around to look at her pursuer.

Her stomach contorts in revulsion and fear, as his expression comes into full view in the light from the city, a Cheshire cat's grin displaying teeth too sharp to be human, amber eyes glowing with anticipation, shining through brown strands of hair falling over his face.

She gets out her phone and quickly speed dials to number one, praying for a quick dial and pick up. As the phone starts to dial the first tone, it dies in her hand, and her jaw drops. A pang runs through her as a dark laugh comes from him, and she realises she cant escape whatever he was going to do.

"What are you?" She asks, disgust apparent in her trembling voice.

"Delighted." He says, before stabbing her in the arm with a needle, and the last thought Ramona has before crumpling lifelessly to the floor is of the unaware consulting detective.

* * *

She awakes to cold tile on her back, and a harsh light fixture burning her eyes.

Ramona rolls over onto her right shoulder, to see a pair of expensive looking black leather shoes. She blinks slowly, still reeling, and then her gaze follows up the body, to see a familiar jawline and chocolate hair, looking down at her in two contrary emotions of disdain and anticipation.

And then, she remembers.

The now terrified woman flinches back, and sits up. Suddenly, he smiles happily.

"How are you feeling?" Her eyes widen as he crouches down, as if to stroke a cat, his hand reaching out to her.

"W- where am I?" Her words were slightly stumbled over, the drug just wearing off now.

"Somewhere we'll never be interrupted." She looks around properly, and complete terror courses through her, as she takes it all in.

Ramona was sat on the floor of a completely white tiled floor, opposite her a steel door with no window. The only window was a ridiculously small one on the left wall in the top corner, it was thick stained glass and would barely let any light in anyway.

Disbelief took hold of her, not able to comprehend the fact that this was Kain. She knew Kain, he was safe, he was predictable, even if he was an insufferable prat sometimes. Kain was not insane, or a stalker, and he was certainly not kidnapping her.

"Very funny Kain, very funny." She sighed, going to get up, before he puts a shoe on her chest.

"I don't see what's so funny about it." He smiled, as if this were completely normal and expected.

"What is this? What are you doing with me?"

"Quite simple, really." He looked casual as he sat on side of the bed. "I'm an easily jealous man, you know that. I'm also domineering, some might say to the point of possessive." Kain smiles madly, showing off those razor like teeth. "But I'm just in love." Her mouth falls open.

"Let me go, this isn't a joke anymore."

"It was never a joke." He muses, before taking his shoe off her chest. "Would you like something to eat? You've been out cold for two whole days, I was starting to worry you'd never wake up!" He laughs lightheartedly, and she makes a disbelieving face, checking her watch. He was right, the date was two days ahead.

"Can I come with you?" He gives her a look.

"Don't be stupid Coralie, that's my job. All you have to do is stay here, and I'll do everything for you." She looks down at her body, and sees that she's dressed in a short white camisole, which looked expensive, like something someone would wear underneath a wedding dress.

"Just let me leave, Kain!" He clenched his jaw unnaturally hard and his tone became angry.

"This is the way you're going to live now, accept it." His tone was tense with frustration. She shook her head, tears in her eyes.

"What are you planning to do with me?!" He shrugged.

"I'm torn between wanting to kill you, and loving you. So like this, I get the best of both worlds!"

"It was you. You're the stalker. You're the murderer." He frowns momentarily.

"Murderer? I'm afraid I know nothing about that, but yes, I am your 'stalker', as you so lovingly put it." He smiles. "It really was enjoyable, watching you squirm under me. Literally and figuratively, of course. And oh, your reactions to the envelopes were just-" She butts in, not being able to take anymore of this person she really didn't know at all.

"I don't know what's come over you, but we can sort this out. Take me home, and-"

"Never." He grinned widely, those inhumanly sharp white teeth glinting in the artificial light. "It'll be how it is now until the day you die. Or until I do, whichever is first." A pang of fear runs through her, as her eyes widen, before facing him seriously.

"People will be looking for me." He raises an eyebrow. "Powerful people. People that owe me a lot." He mulls over this for a second, and then, laughs.

"You're talking about that Sherlock Holmes, yeah?" Another laugh. "He hasn't even noticed that you've been gone. He thinks you've left him for real this time." He smiled, as she shook her head.

"No... No, he wouldn't do that."

"Wouldn't he? Well, I guess you'll just have to take my word for it, seeing as you'll never lay eyes on each other ever again." Her jaw drops, realising that if what Kain was saying was true, Sherlock's last memory of her would be one of fury, one that was angry at him, one that was humiliated and disbelieving. Her eyes begin to fill.

"He'll come looking for me, and he'll see right through you, don't worry about that." He rolled his eyes, and crouched down to her level, producing a sharp butchers knife, and point it at her.

"The faith you place in him reminds me of a dog and its master." He sighs. "If you're going to be like this about him, I'm going to have to kill him, you know."

"You wouldn't dare." Ramona's voice was a dark growl.

"Oh, if you care about him more than me, I would." Her brow creased. "It wouldn't be too much effort really, I'll sneak into that flat I've broken into _so _many times, creep into his room, and slit his throat whilst he's sleeping." Her heart was beating quick. "Or, maybe I could bring him down here with you for a while, and make him watch when-"

"I don't actually care about him." She blurted. Ramona figured that faking Stockholm syndrome was the easiest way to escape, if he really was her stalker. He tilts his head in confusion. "In fact, I can't stand him. He's a disgusting, heartless machine, a freak, a pathetic excuse for a human being." She notices his grin. "Just thinking about him makes my stomach turn. It's just embarrassing that he actually believes that we're friends, and being associated with him is downright humiliating. However, his brother, Mycroft, he's paying me a lot of money, and all I have to do is keep an eye on him. That's the only reason I stick around that dingy flat, it's only for the money, that's the only reason I know Sherlock at all, actually."

Kain thinks about this for a second, and then starts to laugh manically, delighted. Had he seen through her?

"Oh, Coralie, dear, you really are so easy to manipulate." She frowns in confusion. "Like a lost puppy, you latch on to anything that gives you the slightest bit of hope." What was he talking about?

He took a voice recorder from his pocket, and pressed play. Her heart dropped, and a strike of fear hit her like lightning.

**"I don't actually care about him. In fact, I can't stand him. He's a disgusting, heartless machine, a freak, a pathetic excuse for a human being. Just thinking about him makes my stomach turn. It's just embarrassing that he actually believes that we're friends, and being associated with him is downright humiliating. However, his brother, Mycroft, he's paying me a lot of money, and all I have to do is keep an eye on him. That's the only reason I stick around that dingy flat, it's only for the money, that's the only reason I know Sherlock at all, actually."**

He pressed stop, and Ramona looked from the recorder to him, with a look of confusion on her face, as he reaches around to hold her arm.

"What a mess you've gotten yourself into." He says, amused, before stabbing her yet again with a needle, and standing up, brushing himself off.

"Oh, and Cam sends his warmest regards." The last words she heard, before blacking out, her head hitting the cold tile.

* * *

**Ohohoho my, what a turn of events! **

**Did anyone of you suspect him at all? Either way I think I'm giving myself too much credit, as it was very much out of the blue**

**Thank you so so so much for reading! Review to brighten my day! **


	43. Calm Like You

**Calm Like You - The Last Shadow Puppets**

* * *

Ramona opens her eyes wide in shock, looking around frantically, desperate not to see that small white room.

And she didn't, she saw something even worse.

Ramona saw Kain's bedroom, and his sleeping form lying next to her.

She frowned in confusion, and checked her watch. He had said that she'd been out for two days, but it was the morning after she had left the flat. What was going on?

"Morning." He rasped, eyes still closed. She flinched away from his hand, going to cover her.

"W- what's..." She looks around again, trying to piece together what had happened.

"What's what?"

You kidnapped me. Said that you were going to kill Sherlock, said that you were going to keep me in a little room until I died, you recorded me-" She was cut off by his laughter.

"You don't half have some weird dreams, Coralie." Her brow creased, as she looked for her phone.

It was on the bedside table, fully charged. None of this made any sense, unless it really was just a dream. _It's the only theory that makes any sort of sense_, she reasoned with herself. Ramona sighed, and let herself sink back into the pillow.

_It was just a dream. It's just the guilt mixed with the paranoia._

* * *

As she was going to leave, Kain seemed a bit more affectionate than usual.

"Going so soon?"

"Hm? Oh, yeah, I've got some errands to run." She lied, and he looked sad.

"Are you sure you can't stay for just a little while longer?" She frowns momentarily, before her facade is slipped back on.

"Nah, I've got to meet some friends." His face fell.

"Oh. Okay."

"I'll see you later, then." His brow creased, Kain's unusual eyes looking far away for a second.

"Yeah." He mulls, voice quiet. "Hey, do you remember the first time we, uh-"

"How could I forget?" She chuckles at the memory.

"Did you enjoy it?" Ramona swallowed.

"I loved you. Of course I enjoyed it, you idiot." He grins, and for some reason, it irritates her.

"Until next time, Coralie."

"Yeah, bye." He nods, as she closes the door behind her dismissively.

* * *

Ramona realised that she couldn't go home just yet, so wandered around the city for a while, debating on what to do. Then again, what did she have to do about what? All of her problems revolved around Sherlock, but so did everything that made her life worth living, as depressing as it was to admit.

walking past a telephone box, she did a double take, and then her heart lurched three paces.

Opening the door to it tentatively, she closed it behind her, and picked up the black envelope on top of the actual phone. Ramona ripped the top open, and let whatever it was fall into her hand, and almost screamed when she saw what it was.

A voice recorder.

Hesitantly, she pressed play.

**"I don't really care about him. In fact, I-" **She presses stop quickly, takes the tape out of it, gets her lighter out of her pocket, and proceeds to burn it.

Ramona's heart was racing with nerves. It had been Kain, so why had he been unknowing this morning? Why would he do it?

_"Oh, and Cam sends his warmest regards." _His voice echoes in her mind.

And just who was Cam? She leaned against the glass and looked up, to the sky, and the now back to normal English summer weather. It wasn't anything like the heatwave, but it was a damn sight better than winter, that was for sure.

What was she going to do?

At this point, the phone started ringing. The public phone box started to ring, even though they weren't supposed to be able to receive calls.

She frowns, and answers it.

"Hello?" At this point, an all black car pulls up, and she struggles not to roll her eyes.

"We have much to discuss. Get in the car, Miss Doherty." Mycroft's voice sent waves of relief through her. He was the ultimate authority, someone who's very presence had the ability to put you at ease. That was, of course, providing he was backing you.

* * *

She walked into Mycroft's office, and saw that Hannah was sat in one of the chairs next to an empty one that she went over to, and sat in. The last time she had seen this office had been one of the worst nights of her life.

"I call to order the first meeting of the protect Sherlock association." Ramona says sarcastically, trying to lighten the mood. "Hey, we should get jackets!" She quips.

"Yes, most amusing." The man retorts, obviously not amused in the slightest.

Mycroft glares at her, and proceeds to press play on a voice recorder on the desk in between them, all the time holding her gaze.

**I don't really care about him. In fact, I can't stand him. He's a disgusting, heartless machine, a freak, a pathetic excuse for a human being. Just thinking about him makes my stomach turn." **Ramona presses stop, grimacing at the harshness of her words.

"None of it's true. I-"

"You have exactly one minute to explain how this was recorded." He leans forward, elbows on the desk, eyes ferociously terrifying. She swallows, and begins explaining.

* * *

"Give me your watch." She nods, presses a button on it to loosen it, slides it off her wrist and hands it to him, feeling as if she were a child that had gotten sent to the headmasters office. He glances over it, and raises an eyebrow.

"What?" Hannah asks anxiously.

"Your watch has been altered slightly." He passes it back to her. "I've observed how obsessed you are with it being precisely the right time, and it's a second in front of the actual time." She frowns, and begins setting it back.

"So you think that he changed the time on my watch to confuse me?"

"Precisely." At this point, Anthea enters the room, and Ramona turns around to watch her walk over, heels clicking, around the desk to Mycroft, murmuring something into his ear, her brunette hair falling over her face, as his eyes widen.

"What is it?" Ramona asks.

"He's gone missing." Mycroft says, and she realises he's talking about Kain. "Vanished off the face of the earth."

Her jaw drops, and a pang of complete shock runs through her, reminiscent of the feeling of ice running down her spine.

"From the evidence, it looks as if he's left the country." He gestures for Anthea to take a few steps away from him, which she does. "He was probably either being blackmailed, or-" Mycroft stops in his tracks.

"Did he give anything away, drop any hints at all?" Hannah asks.

"He did say something."

"Yes?" Mycroft asks.

"Kain said something about... Cam sending his warmest regards." Mycroft's face fell in horror, before steeling himself. He clicked at Anthea, to write down and organise what he was saying.

"Both of you'll go away for ten days. Somewhere hot and out of the way. I'll deal with this mess."

"What about Sherlock?" The only thing she wanted was to keep it from him. It was her one true weak spot, or perhaps it was just him as a whole.

"Spoken like a true guardian angel." She almost flinches. "Although without your presence Sherlock may in fact descend into a baser version of himself, think of it as a rehearsal for the possible future." She nodded, knowing exactly what he meant. Meanwhile, Hannah sat there with gritted teeth, obviously unhappy about this.

"It's obvious she doesn't want to do this, can't you just get someone else to do it? Someone who knows what they're getting themselves into?" She was completely professional, a different girl to the one she knew, or the one she never knew at all.

"Unfortunately, Ramona is the only one capable of such a taxing task, and the only one with such minimal collateral damage if she were to die." Ramona feels herself flinch, the comment, that was a fact, not an insult, stung like a papercut. "The only reason Sherlock hasn't deducted our little arrangement yet, is because Ramona only recently found out."

Hannah nods, with sad eyes. Ramona could almost hear her saying, 'I tried', as their gazes met briefly.

"Now, where would you like to go?" She crossed her ankles in thought, as this would be the first time she had ever been abroad, if you didn't count the other countries in the UK.

* * *

**Mycroft, the ultimate deus ex machina**

**Bit of a short chapter, sorry, I'm currently bed ridden ill, very much bunged up :(**

**Thanks for reading, all my love if you review! **


	44. King

**King - Years &amp; Years**

* * *

Ramona had had zero contact with Sherlock since the night of the storm. Her seven days that were supposed to have been stress free were instead ridden with guilt and worry, mostly for it one of those tapes made its way to 221B Baker street.

As her taxi pulled up outside the flat, the girl felt apprehensive about facing the insensitive detective again. She realised she had bonded again with Hannah, and this time, the real her, not some figment of fiction created in a masterplan.

The murder investigation had been dropped. When Molly had looked into it, she'd seen that the girl had actually died hours before she was even at the abandoned house. It meant that CAM, or Charles Augustus Magnussen, had either blackmailed or bribed Kain to set her up to get some dirt on Ramona, and it was all just that. A very smart set up that everyone had fallen for.

It was the eleven pm, and Ramona wondered what she would see when she opened the door of the flat, holding her breath.

She found nothing out of the ordinary, which was a letdown, and also a huge relief. She decided to go and say hello to the presumably asleep Sherlock. Ramona walked down the hallway, and gently opened the door, poking her head around the door.

"Sherlock, you awake?" She asked timidly to the darkness.

"I'm afraid he left an hour ago." An irish voice. She narrowed her eyes. _Janine. _

"Know where he went? I just got back, wanted to say hi."

"I'm not too sure, said he was going for work or something." She looked down at the carpet, getting a very bad feeling from this.

"I'm gonna go look for him, you know what he's like."

"Oh, I do." She rolled her eyes. _No, you really don't, love. _

Before leaving, she decided that having a weapon handy was the best course of action. She tucked a huge butchers knife into her pocket, knowing full well that what she was doing was illegal, and then was back outside, putting her helmet on and swinging a leg over her bike.

* * *

Ramona searched the city for hours, after texting him, and obviously getting no reply. It was cold and bright when she pulled up somewhere she had desperately not wanted to visit. Taking off her helmet, and putting it under her seat, she ran a hand through her hair to feather it out again.

She almost jumped when John's car pulled up, Mary in tow. He gets out, and frowns momentarily when he sees her.

"John, mate, what're you doing here?"

"Ramona?" Her face flickered to slight concern. "Sorry, you look much better than when I last saw you." She raised her eyebrows. "Wait, I don't, um-"

"Mary! How are you?" Ramona ignores the fumbling man. Mary gives her a thumbs up from the locked car, and she grins.

"Why're you here, Ramona?" Concern was evident in his voice.

"Oh, don't mind me. Just looking for something I lost." She decided this wasn't necessarily a lie. "Come on, let's go visit the smackheads." John smiles and they pace towards the door, that has a large sign stuck to the front of it saying, 'PRIVATE PROPERTY. KEEP OUT.' They both promptly ignore this and John knocks loudly on the door.

"Hello?" The door is opened to reveal a young man wearing a jacket with the hood pulled up over his head. Ramona turns up her nose at the smell of him.

"What d'you want?" He says, in a harsh cockney accent.

"'Scuse us." They barge past him and walk down the hall.

The man looks outside for a moment in disbelief, and then turns around to face them.

"Naah, naah, you can't come in 'ere!" Ramona ducks into the rooms, getting a feeling that he was near.

"I'm looking for a friend. A very specific friend- I'm not just browsing." Ramona chuckles. She reaches the last room and turns back around.

"You've gotta go. No-one's allowed 'ere." He looks to them both. "You can stay if you like though, love." He winks at her, and she scoffs incredulously.

"Isaac Whitney. You seen him?" John asks, as Ramona walks past him and stops a couple of paces in front. At this point, the man produces a flick-knife from his pocket and snaps the blade open, holding it towards her, and alternating between the two.

"I'm asking you if you've seen Isaac Whitney, and now you're showing me a knife. Is it a clue?" Ramona smirked. He gestures with his knife towards the open door behind him.

Maybe he's a mime?" John chuckles at her comment.

"Go. Or I'll cut you." Ramona laughs, and takes out the butchers knife, about a hundred times more frightening than a small flick knife, and points it at him casually, gesturing with it as she spoke.

"Will you, now?"

"Not from there. Let me help." He walks closer, stopping close enough to the drug addict so that he could stab him if he wanted to. He stares back at him wide-eyed.

"Now, concentrate." He's slow and precise. "Isaac Whitney."

"Okay, you asked for it."

Before he can even think about moving, John lashes out with his left hand, taking his right arm and slamming his right hand down onto the arm. As the man cries out in pain pathetically, John wraps his right hand round the front of his neck and slams him against the wall, then uses his right foot to sweep his feet from under him. He slumps to the floor and John steps back. The homeless man chokes and groans in pain. John bends down and picks up the flick-knife which has fallen to the floor.

"Right." He squats down beside him, Ramona watches with a raised eyebrow. "Are you concentrating yet?" She could imagine Mary really enjoying this.

"You broke my arm!"

"No, I sprained it."

"It feels squishy! Is it supposed to feel squishy?" He holds his arm out to John. "Feel that!" John reaches out and squeezes the arm.

"He's a doctor, he knows how to sprain people." She remarks, looking around, slightly amused.

"Now where is Isaac Whitney?"

"I don't know!" They both shoot him a look. "Maybe upstairs."

"There we go!" She exclaims, sarcasm evident.

"Wasn't that easy?" He stands up and walks towards the stairs, as Ramona runs up, praying she wouldn't find him here.

"No. It's really sore. You're mental, you are." She laughs.

"No. Just used to a better class of criminal."

He walks up the stairs and into a large room at the top. Several people are lying or sitting on mattresses around the edge of the room. All of them look very stoned and unaware of what's going on in the real world. Grimacing, they walk slowly across the room.

"Oh, this is lovely." She remarks, looking around.

"Isaac? Isaac Whitney?"

"Isaac?" He walks over to two people lying side by side on a mattress. One of them raises. Isaac blearily looks up at John as he walks to his side and kneels down beside him. "Hello, mate." He puts a supporting hand behind his back. "Sit up for me? Sit up." Ramona watched.

"Need any help?" She asks, feeling slightly useless.

"I'm fine, thanks." She nods. He helps him to sit, then lifts one of his eyelids. The boy's eyes roll uncontrollably and he tries to focus on John, and Ramona winces. What was the attraction to a drug like heroin, anyway?

"Doctor Watson?" He lifts another eyelid.

"Yep."

"Where am I?"

"The arse-end of the universe with the scum of the Earth. Look at me."

"Have you come for me?" Ramona laughs, and looks at other people, and suddenly, she recognises a width of shoulder.

"D'you think I know a lot of people here?!" Isaac laughs hazily.

Anger suddenly overtakes Ramona, as she jumps on the man next to Isaac, knees either side of them. John looks perplexed as he frowns deeply. The man, wearing tracksuit bottoms and a jacket with the hood up, rolls over onto his back, and lazily smiles up at a fuming Ramona.

"Ah, hello, Ramona." She grits her teeth. "Didn't expect to see you here." He looks over to John. "Did you come for me, too?" She takes a deep breath, before her eyes turn to blue orbs of fire.

"_William Sherlock Scott Holmes!" _Every druggie in the entire room snap towards her voice, and John appears stunned, perhaps even a frightened, as Sherlock flinches away, before grinning in delight.

* * *

On the first floor landing of the fire escape, Sherlock angrily punches open a temporary door which had been nailed across a doorway, knocking it off all its nails and sending it crashing across the fire escape.

"For God's sakes! I'm on a case!"

"Seven bloody days! I'm gone for seven days, and you turn to drugs!" She turns behind her, to an equally furious John. "Can you believe that?!" Sherlock vaults over the side of the fire escape and onto a wall beside it.

"I'm working." He states. He jumps down onto the top of a wheelie bin beside the wall and then down onto another one laying on its side before stepping to the ground. They follow closely.

"Sherlock Holmes in a drug den! How's that gonna look?" John shouts.

"I'm undercover."

"Oh, John, it's fine, he's only using hard drugs cause he's undercover!"

"Well, I'm not now!" He gesticulates angrily. Mary drives the car quickly towards the house, and she pulls up alongside them with a squeal of brakes.

"In. Both of you, quickly." She orders. John gets into the passenger seat while Sherlock gets into the seat behind him. The man with a sprained arm hurries over towards the car, cradling said arm. Mary sighs in exasperation at the boys, as Ramona leans into the open window. The women then turns to look through the front windscreen at the new arrival standing in front of the car.

"Please. Can I come? I think I've got a broken arm."

"No. Go away." Mary quips, as Ramona smirks knowingly.

"No, let him." John chuckles.

"Why?"

"Yeah, just get in. It's a sprain." Ramona laughs as bill rushes around the side of the car.

"Anyone else? I mean, we're taking everybody home, are we?"

Sighing, Sherlock shifts to the centre of the rear seat to give the man some room, as he slides in next to him.

"All right, Shezza?" Ramona laughs.

"Shezza?" She and John ask incredulously in chorus.

"I was undercover."

"Seriously- 'Shezza', though?!" Mary asks. Sherlock sighs.

"You're not going home just yet, make a stop at Bart's, I'll call Molly." Ramona orders. In the rear seat, Sherlock wipes some of the dirt off his face with a handkerchief.

"Why?" Ramona turns her gaze, now ferocious, to Sherlock.

"Because Sherlock Holmes needs to pee in a jar." John adds. Sherlock lowers his handkerchief and closes his eyes with exasperation. Ramona walks away and to her motorbike.

* * *

Later, in Molly's lab, the said scientist is finishing her tests on Sherlock's sample. He is standing nearby, leaning back against the central bench and looking sulky, Ramona glaring daggers at him, as he refuses to meet her gaze. On the other side of the lab Bill is sitting on a side bench while Mary is wrapping a bandage round his arm. Isaac is also sitting nearby. Molly takes off her gloves with two loud snaps.

"Well? Is he clean?" John asks. She throws her gloves down, and looks at John.

"Clean?" Molly asks rhetorically. She turns and walks over to face Sherlock, then slaps him hard around the face with her right hand. Mary, Bill and Isaac look over to them in surprise. Ramona's eyes widen and her head whips towards them in outrage, as everyone looks around in discomfort and awkwardness. Molly slaps him again just as hard and then, goes in for another with her left hand.

Suddenly Ramona is beside her, holding her wrist in a death grip, a lot angrier than she thought she was.

"I think that'll be enough, don't you?" Her voice is menacing, and Molly looks from Sherlock to her, then back to Sherlock, before lowering her offending hand. The junkie detective's eyes widen in surprise, as Ramona lets go.

"How dare you throw away the beautiful gifts you were born with?!" Molly asks, infuriated. She glances at John and Ramona, and then back to Sherlock.

"And how dare you betray the love of your friends? Say you're sorry." Sherlock holds his face, no sign of remorse evident on his features.

"Sorry your engagement's over- though I'm fairly grateful for the lack of a ring."

"Stop it." She growls angrily, a first for her. "Just stop it."

"An addiction isn't something you can apologise for, he wasn't betraying us, it's not his fault, et cetera et cetera. This isn't about us- it's about him, _for a change."_ She adds sarcastically, and Sherlock looks away in annoyance."He doesn't have a choice when it comes to drugs, neither does any addict, that's why things like rehab and AA meetings exist. I'm sure he fought the urge beforehand. I'm sure you're very angry, just as we all are, but there's no need to turn to violence, or make him apologise, for something out of his control. It's something that we need to help, not scold him for, Molly_._"

She adds her name with a territorial tone of warning in her voice, and although she doesn't mean to be, she realises it sounded like she was having a go at the now slightly scared, slightly apologetic and slightly embarrassed woman. Ramona takes a few steps towards him, and although her words are diplomatic and understanding, her stance, tone of voice and eyes indicate otherwise, as John storms towards him too.

The fact that she was the only person in the room to be slightly defending him shook Sherlock slightly, caught him off guard in a way he wish he didn't experience. Why was she always so protective, and why was she nearly always on his side?

"If you were anywhere near this kind of thing again, you could have called, you could have talked to me."

"Please do relax. This is all for a case."

"Sherlock, stop undermining your problems, and let us help." Sherlock frowns down at her, their gazes locking momentarily, in which Ramona's knees go weak, before looking away again. Why was it that he had this effect on her, even in such a state as the one he was in now?

"A ca... What kind of case would need you doing this?" John asks.

"I might as well ask you why you've started cycling to work."

"No. We're not playing this game." John shakes his head and walks away.

"Quite recently, I'd say. You're very determined about it."

"Not interested."

"I am." The man with a sprained arm says, and Sherlock turns to look at him. The man looks down at Mary.

"Ow."

"Oh, sorry. You moved. But it is just a sprain."

"Yeah. Somebody 'it me." Ramona chuckled lowly.

"Huh?" He turns to look at John.

"Eh, just some guy."

"Yeah, probably just an addict in need of a fix." Ramona raises her eyebrows.

"Definitely." She remarks, looking at John. He holds her gaze for a second, and then looks away.

"Is it his shirt?"

"I'm sorry?"

"Well, it's the creases, innit?" He looks across to John. Sherlock and Ramona do the same.

"The two creases down the front. It's been recently folded but it's not new." Ramona raises an eyebrow incredulously as Sherlock smiles lightly.

"Must have dressed in a hurry this morning... So all your shirts must be kept like that. But why? Maybe 'cause you cycle to work every morning, shower when you get there an' then dress in the clothes you brought with you." Ramona feels impressed, but wary. "You keep your shirts folded... ready to pack."

"Not bad." Sherlock evaluates.

"An' I further deduce... You've only started recently, because you've got a bit of chafing." Ramona laughs.

"No- he's always walked like that. Remind me, what's your name again?"

"They call me The Wig."

"No they don't."

"Well, they- they call me Wiggy."

"Nope."

"Bill. Bill Wiggins."

"Nice observational skills, _Billy_." His phone sounds a text alert. He takes out the phone and looks at the message.

"Ah! Finally."

"'Finally' what?" Molly asks.

"Good news?" Bill asks.

"Oh, excellent news- the best." He turns and begins walking towards the door. "There's every chance that my drug habit might hit the newspapers. The game is on." Raising his phone to his ear as he reaches the door, he turns and looks round the room briefly.

"Excuse me for a second." He leaves the room, and Ramona has to strangle a scream of pure frustration, balling her fists and storming out to follow him.

"That enigmatic-" She whispers. "Dick'ed!" A shout that makes everyone jump, slamming the door behind her.

* * *

Later, the three are alone in the back of a taxi.

"You've heard of Charles Augustus Magnussen, of course." Ramona almost squeaks in surprise. Charles Augustus Magnussen- or CAM, for short.

"Yeah. Owns some newspapers- ones I don't read."

"Hang on, weren't there other people?"

"Mary's taking the boys home; we're taking you. We did discuss it."

"People were talking, none of them me. I must have filtered."

"I noticed." Ramona was unusually quiet, glaring fire out of the window, radiating obvious pure anger, but really, she felt guilty- as if she had failed. Because she had, hadn't she?

I have to filter out a lot of witless babble. I've got her on semi-permanent mute." He gestures to Ramona.

"Do _not _push your luck today, Sherlock _bloody_ Holmes." She doesn't look at him, and bites his cheek in thought.

"Have a nice time in Bora Bora?" She rolled her eyes.

"Not in the mood."

"See you've got yourself a tan- you must have been _so _distraught." It was true, she had taken in a lot of sun, and gone on a lot of runs on the island, pushing herself to complete exhaustion at times, desperate for some time to think. John frowns in confusion, sensing the overbearing tension in the taxi.

"_Sherlock_."

"You've gained a lot of lean muscle, I'd say from running."

"You'll be running away in a minute."

"Um, sorry, did something happen?" They both turn to him.

"No." They snap, in unison, all too quick not to be suspicious.

* * *

As soon as he sees the closed front door, Sherlock lets out an exasperated sigh.

"What is my brother doing here?" He gets out and heads to the door.

"I'll pay." Ramona offers to a grateful John.

"He's straightened the knocker." He turns to them as they get out of the taxi.

"He always corrects it. He's OCD. Doesn't even know he's doing it." He deliberately pushes the door knocker to one side, then lets himself in. Ramona and John share a look behind his back. They go inside, John shutting the door behind him, and Sherlock opens and goes through the inner door, then stops and rolls his eyes at the sight of Mycroft sitting on the stairs.

"Well, then, Sherlock. Back on the sauce?"

"What are you doing here?"

"I called him." Ramona states shortly.

"The siren call of old habits. How very like Uncle Rudy- though, in many ways, cross-dressing would have been a wiser path for you." Ramona almost chuckles in amusement.

"You called him."

"Obviously I did."

"Obviously she bloody did. Now, save me a little time. Where should we be looking?"

"We?"

"Mr Holmes?" Ramona narrows her eyes at Anderson's voice.

In the kitchen, Anderson closes the door to one of the cupboards in the kitchen.

"For God's sake!" He exclaims angrily. Sherlock storms up the stairs, Mycroft sliding sideways on his step to get out of his way. Mycroft and Ramona exchange a brief secretive look and John blows out a breath as Mycroft leans on his umbrella to push himself to his feet.

Sherlock goes into the kitchen and glares at Anderson who is with a female colleague.

"Anderson." He greets him angrily.

"I'm sorry, Sherlock. It's for your own good." He raises his hands apologetically. Sherlock drops his keys on the table.

"Oh, that's him, isn't it?" Ramona appears behind him, arms folded. "Oh my god, it's her."

Sherlock turns and storms towards his armchair, where another member of the 'search team' is sitting and reading a book. The man scrambles out of the chair, putting the book onto the table beside it, and hurries away. Sherlock flips his hood up and climbs into the chair.

"You said he'd be taller. And she's not that pretty." Ramona turns an annoyed look towards woman.

"Are you trynna to start sommet?" She asks, an annoyance in her voice.

"Some members of your little fan club. Do be polite. They're entirely trustworthy, and even willing to search through the toxic waste dump that you are pleased to call a flat."

"Toxic waste dump!" She exclaims, offended. Sherlock has curled up sideways in his chair and now lays his head on one of the arms, closing his eyes.

"You're a celebrity these days, Sherlock. You can't afford a drug habit." Sherlock opens his eyes and looks at him in annoyance.

"I do not have a drug habit."

"Yeah, and the duchess of Cambridge is actually a seventy two year old Japanese man with a fondness for drag."

"What have you found so far? Clearly nothing." Mycroft says, turning to Anderson.

"There's nothing to find." Mycroft towards the hallway.

"Your bedroom door is shut." Sherlock sighs, as he slowly paces up the hallway.

"You haven't been home all night. So, why would a man who has never knowingly closed the door without the direct orders of his mother bother to do so on this occasion?" Sherlock raises his head and flips his hood back while Mycroft progresses, as Ramona watches him with accusatory eyes. Mycroft reaches the door and puts his hand on the door knob. Sherlock hurls himself up into a sitting position.

"Okay, stop! Just stop." Mycroft turns the knob but doesn't open the door. "Point made."

"Jesus, Sherlock." John remarks.

"Don't worry, John, nothing of any worth in there." She mutters, basically to herself, causing Sherlock to look up at her with a frown. Mycroft stops and walks back towards them.

"Have to phone our parents, of course, in Oklahoma." Sherlock looks down and closes his eyes in slight shame and annoyance. "Won't be the first time that your substance abuse has wreaked havoc with their line-dancing." Ramona smiles slightly. Sighing, Sherlock stands up and walks closer to his brother.

"This is not what you think. This is for a case."

"What case could possibly justify this?"

"Magnussen." Mycroft's ghost of a smile drops. "Charles Augustus Magnussen." Mycroft draws a breath, and shares a brief look with Ramona over Sherlock's shoulder, before turning to Anderson and the woman.

"That name you think you may have just heard- you were mistaken. If you ever mention hearing that name in this room, in this context, I guarantee you- on behalf of the British security services- that materials will be found on your computer hard drives resulting in your immediate incarceration. Don't reply, just look frightened and scuttle." Anderson ushers the woman out of the kitchen and follows her onto the landing, closing the door behind him.

Mycroft turns back to where John is standing beside Sherlock.

"I hope I won't have to threaten you as well."

"Well, I think we'd both find that embarrassing." Sherlock snorts and looks away.

"Magnussen is not your business."

"Oh, you mean he's yours."

"He's right, Sherlock." Ramona adds, causing a confused creased brow to appear on Sherlock's face.

"You may consider him under my protection."

"I consider you under his thumb."

"If you go against Magnussen, then you will find yourself going against me." He states ominously.

"Okay. I'll let you know if I notice." Sherlock replies in a nonchalant tone, strolling towards the kitchen door.

"Er, what was I going to say? Oh, yeah." He opens the door. "Bye-bye." He points the way out. Mycroft walks round him, then turns to face him.

"Unwise, brother mine." In a flash Sherlock seizes Mycroft's left arm just below the elbow. Twisting his arm up behind his back, he slams his brother face-first against the wall beside the kitchen door. Mycroft cries out in pain. Sherlock breathes rapidly, his voice venomous.

"Brother mine, don't appall me when I'm high." Ramona storms over, John hurrying to Mycroft's side.

"Mycroft, don't say another word. Just go. He could snap you in two, and right now I am slightly worried that he might." The thought of Sherlock snapping someone in two confused her. Mycroft pushes himself free of his brother's grip and holds his left arm in pain. Sherlock turns and walks away. Mycroft turns towards him.

"Don't speak. Just leave." Ramona huffs in annoyance, and crouches down to grab his dropped umbrella, handing it over to him with a slight benevolent smile.

Mycroft snatches it from his hand.

"I'll walk you out, Mycroft." Sherlock narrows his eyes, his head snapping towards the two, as they walk down the stairs together.

* * *

What do you make of this, then?" Mycroft asks her, leaning on his umbrella on the pavement.

"He's got a girlfriend in that room, y'know." Mycroft's eyes widen in surprise momentarily.

"I see." A car pulls up. "Try take his mind off Magnussen, would you?" He requests, as she folds her arms and shifts her weight to her left leg.

"He's going to blackmail me, isn't he?" Mycroft opens the car door.

"Oh, I'm afraid he already is." She swallows a hidden fear, and raises a hand for a goodbye to the car, as it drives away.

"Well." She mutters to herself, turning back towards the door. "Into battle, then."

* * *

She enters the flat again, to be met with an extremely unpleasant sight. Janine is in the kitchen, conversing with John awkwardly.

"Hello, Janine." She says, hiding the annoyance in her voice, calling upon her impressive acting skills.

"Hi, Ramona."

"Anyway. Sounded like an argument." She turns to John. "Was it Mike?"

"Mike?" He asks, in disbelief.

"Mike, yeah. His brother, Mike. They're always fighting."

"Mycroft."

"Do people actually call him that?!"

"Yeah."

"Huh! Oh, Ramona, could you be a love and put some coffee on?" Ramona's left eye twitches with anger, biting down hard on her tongue.

"Yep." She says shortly, imitating Sherlock and popping the p.

"Thanks." She says, heading back towards the hallway, stopping to put a hand briefly on John's shoulder. "Ooh, how's Mary? How's married life?"

"She's fine. We're both fine, yeah." Ramona walks towards a cupboard. Janine points in another direction.

"Oh, it's over there now." Janine explains, and Ramona shuts her eyes in frustration, her back turned to Janine, willing herself not to attack the woman.

"Kay!" Her voice came out slightly more high pitched than she had intended.

"Where's Sherl?" Ramona tightens her jaw.

"Sherl!" John exclaims with a grin. Ramona makes a mocking face at the wall in front of her.

"He's just having a bath. I'm sure he'll be out in a minute."

"Oh, like he ever is!" The annoyed woman's eyes narrowed. What was that even supposed to mean?

"Yeah!" John agrees.

He frowns as if still unable to believe what's happening. Janine goes along the hallway and knocks on the bathroom door, immediately opening it and going inside.

Ramona opens a cupboard and grabs a glass forcefully, slamming the cupboard door passive aggressively. She pushes up the tap quickly, and fills the glass full of water.

"Morning! Room for a little one?!" Sherlock laughs and she giggles while there is much sound of splashing water. John turns and looks along the hallway.

"Are you..." John begins.

Ramona downs the water quickly, And John watches with wide eyes, walking to beside her.

"Morning." He can be heard chuckling happily. Ramona's nose twitches, pursing her lips together.

"Okay?" John says,slightly scared.

Janine lets out a high-pitched 'Ooh!' of delight.

At this point, the glass in Ramona's hand shatters into pieces, from the grip of her white knuckles.

She lets out a loud, forced laugh, stomping on the glass. John takes a step back, slightly weirded out, as she looks back up at him with a look he had never seen before, with a strained smile, a vein in her temple visible for the first time in her life.

"ME!" She shouts, before taking a calming breath, and crouching down to pick up the pieces of glass.

"I'm just brilliant! Life is so _fucking_ great, don't you think?" Her tone was over cheery, and John could see right through her, as she stood up with a fistful of glass, squeezing so tight it cut her hand, storming over to the bin and throwing the glass down into it. "He has a girlfriend now!"

"Yeah, I figured that one out..." His eyes narrow and he smiles knowingly.

"It's amazing, don't you think?" Her nostrils flare slightly as she hears a chuckle from a way too happy Sherlock. John laughs slightly.

"Unbelievable, actually." She nods quickly.

"I mean, Janine's _great, _isn't she?" She says rhetorically, stretching out the 'great' so that it sounded almost sarcastic. "She's so wonderful, and, so, _homely, _wouldn't you say? A lovely girl, I can see why Sherlock... _Likes _her, can't you?" John raises his eyebrows.

"She's a nice woman, yeah."

"I mean, _can_ you see why he likes her?"

"Sorry?"

"The traits she has that are uncommon among women. Can you see them?"

"Um, she's beautiful, I suppose"

"Beautiful?! Sherlock doesn't care about _beautiful, _John." John walks over to the living room, Ramona stalking over to follow him. "If I had to say one thing he looks for, it'd definitely be intelligence, wouldn't you say?" She was looking for backing here, that much was obvious. "No offence, but she's not exactly the brightest tool in the shed." She drums her fingers quickly on the desk beside her, as he sits on the coffee table. "Sorry, can I borrow that flick knife?"

"Just promise me you won't do anything you'll regret, Ramona." He says, jokingly, as he passes it to her, and she pauses briefly.

"Perhaps the tyre iron too?" He looks at her hesitantly, but gives it to her. She snatches if from him, flicking the knife and up back down again, pacing up and down the living room. _Oh, I definitely wouldn't regret it._

"If you thought that Sherlock was going to go out with a woman, who would you place your bet on? Who would you _back?_" John sighed slightly in exasperation. "I hate to blow my own trumpet, but I'd readily place all my life savings on this genius." She states, pointing the flick knife towards herself.

"Would you now?" John says, entertained by her rant of quite obvious jealousy, seeing a reflection of Sherlock in her.

"I'm a match for him. I can _look after him,_ John. What other woman can say that?" She grip tightens on the knifes handle and the tyre iron as she paces even quicker. "Obviously not her, seeing as he's turned to drugs whilst he's with her!" She hisses, working herself up.

"You really don't like her, do you?"

"Hate is such a strong word, John."

"I never said anything about hate." He says, chuckling quietly.

"Oh, didn't you?" She asks, venom in her voice. "I must've been filtering."

"Meanwhile, she waltzes in here, large as life, as if she _owns _the joint," Her voice was beginning to be tinged with a southern Irish accent, just to add to Johns amusement. "Who does she think she is?! And wearing his _clothes?" _She gives a short laugh of annoyance. "I mean, _come on!_"

"Is this jealously, Ramona?" She stops in her tracks and whips her head round to him.

"You do not tell Sherlock about this. Okay?" John raises his eyebrows, at her not denying it.

"I won't, but you really should." She scoffs.

"Yeah, that's a good idea." She imitates herself. "Oh, Sherlock, quick note, I like you, hope you don't mind, but I think you should break up with your girlfriend, even though you don't feel that way about me."

John's jaw drops.

She had finally admitted it to herself, then. He wondered how long it would be before they got together. Him and Mycroft had made a bet ages ago, and if they didn't jump into bed soon, he'd lose quite a bit of money. It was so obvious, though, so transparent how they felt about each other, that they were oblivious to. Admittedly, John had thought they were an item since he returned from the dead, but her date at the wedding proved his deduction to be wrong.

"Ramona, I'm flattered, but personally I think you're a bit of a twat, and a bit weird looking, so thanks, but no thanks. Goodbye forever!" She imitates the detective scarily well. "And yes, I do bloody admit it, I fancy him, alright?" John nods slowly to the vehement voice. "And if you breathe a _word _of this to Sherlock, as much as I love you John, you will regret it."

He realised in that moment that there was something very frightening inside of Ramona. He could feel his mind make a connection with it to something, but he wasn't sure what, as he frowned momentarily. He wondered if she knew this, if she knew just how scary she was, or that she had the capacity to be extremely unnerving, if she worked on it.

At this, another loud noise of happiness comes from the bathroom.

Ramona lets out a noise of pure anger, and throws the tyre lever towards the wall above the couch, hitting the yellow smiley face directly inbetween the eyes. It goes deep into the wall, and wobbles slightly from the force. John hides a grin as she tenses her whole body momentarily, huffs, slightly satisfied with the force, and then paces off to her room to get changed.

* * *

**I wouldn't mess with her if she was in that sort of mood, omg**

**Are we actually getting somewhere? Could it be? **

**Thank you so so so much for reading, Review to make a silly author's day! **


	45. My First Wedding

**My First Wedding - The Wombats**

**I don't own anything apart from my oc**

**\- For the record, I do not have a problem with Janine in the slightest, I personally think she's a lovely, very pretty and likable character, everything you're going to read is just my oc's opinion, because this story is mostly told from her viewpoint lol -**

* * *

A while later, after a lot of catching up between the two, Sherlock appears, wearing black trousers and a white shirt and putting his jacket on, walking across the living room. John has a bemused smile on his face. Ramona's sat at the living room table, scratching a few annoyed doodles into the wood with the flick knife.

"So- it's just a guess but you've probably got some questions." The consulting detective asks the good doctor.

"Yyyyeah, one or two, pretty much." He replies.

"Naturally."He turns and looks towards the kitchen. John and Ramona follow his gaze as Janine- also fully dressed- walks into the bedroom. Smiling, Sherlock sits down on his chair.

"You have a girlfriend?"

" Yes, I have." John grins, and quickly drops the expression, being exposed to Ramona's warning look. Sherlock looks towards the bedroom again, then turns to them, looking more serious.

"Now, Magnussen. Magnussen is like a shark- it's the only way I can describe him. Have you ever been to the shark tank at the London Aquarium, either of you- stood up close to the glass? Those floating flat faces, those dead eyes... That's what he is. I've dealt with murderers, psychopaths, terrorists, serial killers. None of them can turn my stomach like Charles Augustus Magnussen."

"You need to stop with this." The consulting detective's brow creases in annoyance for a second, before he turns his gaze to her. "And I don't just mean comparing your enemies to scary animals." John's mouth twitches upwards in an amused smile. "CAM- Magnussen's ridiculously dangerous, he can ruin all of our lives in one phone call." She looked him in the eyes, seriously. "You're playing with fire, Sherlock." He cocks his head to the side, with narrowed eyes and a studying look.

"Yes, you have." John's voice breaks him out of his confused train of thought. Laying his eyes on her again was extremely satisfying, to say the least. And although there were no faults with her appearance before, if there had been, they were definitely put to sleep by the healthy glow that she was currently giving off. Her hair seemed brighter, bleached from the sun, her face was slightly bronzed, the small, light freckles that littered her now toned body were now more visible because of the sun, her eyes were more clear, or they would be, if they weren't so obviously hiding something from him. What was it?

"Sorry, what?" He rips his eyes off her.

"You have a girlfriend."

"Uh... What?" He clears his throat, and puts himself back into Sherlock mode. "Yes! Yes, I'm going out with Janine. I thought that was fairly obvious."

"Yes. Well... yes." He clears his throat loudly, and shares a look with Ramona, who shortly after rolls her eyes, going back to the obviously very important carving she was currently making in the table. "But I mean you, you, you... Are in a relationship?" Sherlock blinks.

"Yes, I am."

"You and Janine?"

"Mmm, yes. Me and-"

"Oh! My god, we get it. We get it, you have a girlfriend. Stop rubbing it in our noses, would you?" She mutters, realising she really shouldn't of said that. Sherlock blinks again, even more confused. John ignores her.

"Care to elaborate?" Sherlock draws in a long breath and looks up thoughtfully, then puffs out his cheeks as he breathes out again.

"Well, we're in a good place. It's, um..." Ramona narrows her eyes, leans back suddenly in the chair, crosses her arms and looks at him quizzically. "Very affirming." She snorts with laughter in disdain, looking away and shaking her head.

"You got that from a book." John states.

"Everyone got that from a book." John looks round and smiles as Janine comes into the room.

"Okay, you two bad boys, behave yourselves." Ramona raises an eyebrow at the complete and utter dismissal of her existence. Sherlock smiles happily at her as she sits down on the arm of his chair. He puts his arm round her as she turns and leans close to his face. Ramona clenches her jaw, and grins, a bit too happy to be normal for the natural pessimist.

"And you, Sherl, you're gonna have to tell me where you were last night." She purses her lips in amusement.

"Working." Ramona stares at them, unable to take her eyes off them, as if insistent on torturing herself, all the while branding the memory into her brain with a scorching hot iron. _Has he been lying about being on night shifts to keep her at an arms length? _

"Working. Of course. I'm the only one who really knows what you're like, remember?" John sees Ramonas toes curl.

_She's so clueless, she may just be the single person I dislike the most in the entire universe, and I've met Jim Moriarty._

"Don't you go letting on." Sherlock replies softly. Suddenly, Ramona felt more than anger. She felt extremely sad, as he gently runs his finger down the tip of her nose, then lays his hand on her arm. They stare deeply into each other's eyes. Ramona's eyes start to sting, in what she can only describe as a burning sensation in every inch of her body, as John grins in disbelief, feeling very sorry for the poor girl sat at the table.

Sherlock was going to have to tell him what his secret was, that was for sure.

"I might just, actually." _Oh, yeah, you're so knowledgeable about Sherlock. Why don't you tell me the name of his childhood dog? Have you met his parents? I think not. Perhaps your friends with his brother? I can't recall that, I'm afraid. Maybe you can tell me about how you're going to help his drug habit. No? _

Internally, Ramona was ripping the woman to shreds, smiling a bit to herself, and relaxing as she thought of scenarios in which Sherlock would not turn up to their wedding, and instead elope with her, not surprising anyone apart from clueless Janine.

Janine tears her eyes away from Sherlock and looks across to John, as does Sherlock.

"I haven't told Mary about this. I kind of wanted to surprise her." Her taxing voice pulls Ramona kicking and screaming back to harsh reality.

"Yeah, you probably will." Sherlock noted how silent Ramona was.

"But we should have you two over for dinner really soon!" She visibly tensed at this proposition.

"Yeah!" Sherlock added enthusiastically. Since when did Sherlock add to anything enthusiastically?

"My place, though- not the scuzz-dump!" Ramona's eyes widen in complete and utter rage.

_Let's just evaluate the situation, shall we? _Ramona reasoned within herself, thoughts racing through her mind almost too quick for her to register, which wasn't unusual. _First, she comes and takes Sherlock from me,_ She has to remind herself that Sherlock was in fact never hers to take from, and does not belong to anyone at all. _She then acts like she's the best thing to ever to happen to him, which is obviously incorrect, tells us all that she's the only one that really knows Sherlock at all, which is also wrong, she then decides she's allowed to touch Sherlock, and for some reason he doesn't scream in terror when she does, and to top it all off, she just called my flat, the place I live, my home, a scuzz-dump. The diagnosis is clear; this woman is unbearable, and should be disposed of quickly, efficiently, and in the most brutal manner possible. _

Ramona smiles at Janine warmly, completely believably, as she punches Sherlock affectionately on the shoulder and they both laugh. _I really should look into show business._

"Great, yeah! Dinner! Yeah." Ramona rolls her eyes.

"Oh, I'd better dash. It was brilliant to see you!"

"Lovely." Ramona remarks genuinely, flick knife still in hand,and having put the tyre iron in the back of her waistband, hidden by her leather jacket, as John stands up.

"You too." The smaller man in the room agrees.

They turn and watch as Sherlock escorts Janine to the living room door and opens it for her.

"Have a lovely day. Call me later." She turns back to him and fiddles with the edge of his jacket.

"I might do. I might call you- unless I meet someone prettier."

And then, they kiss.

Ramona's jaw drops forcefully, grip tightening on the blade, wondering how quickly she could get across the room and insert it into Janine's neck. _Alright, a little harsh. _John quickly turns away with his mouth in a startled 'O' shape, looking at Ramona, visibly fuming, and taking a couple of steps back in precaution.

_I wonder if a person can actually combust with anger?_ She decides to google it later.

_There's no way he can be enjoying that, it's awkward just to watch. Look how sloppy she is! _This was definitely Ramona's imagination. _Just look at how tightly his eyes are screwed together! But oh, look at how he's kissing. He's good. _

She bites her lip, before returning back to insatiable jealously, and deciding this was definitely not acceptable.

Ramona gets John's gun out, and shoots the wall, hitting the smiley, yet again, right in between the eyes. John decided her shot was definitely too good.

This pulled both of them apart in shock, to her secret satisfaction.

"No PDAs in my flat, thanks." She hisses, a joking smile on her face, a fire burning the pit of her stomach. Oh, she was definitely in too deep.

Janine looks back to Sherlock, and whispers softly to him, their noses touching.

"Solve me a crime, Sherlock Holmes." _I'd like to solve the crime of your relationship, please. And that outfit. _Ramona smirks to herself at the secret burn she had made, although Janine's outfit was actually quite nice.

Janine is grinning, and she turns and leaves the room. Sherlock smiles as he watches her go, the least Sherlock thing she had ever seen.

His smile abruptly drops as he closes the door, much to Ramona's curiousity, and wishful thinking. He walks back across the room.

"You know Magnussen as a newspaper owner, but he's so much more than that." John frowns at him, as Ramona raises her eyebrows. "He uses his power and wealth to gain information. The more he acquires, the greater his wealth and power." He sits down at the dining table in the seat next to Ramona and opens his laptop.

"I'm not exaggerating when I say that he knows the critical pressure point on every person of note or influence in the whole of the Western world and probably beyond. He is the Napoleon of blackmail..." He pulls up a photograph of Magnussen's home, together with a blueprint of the building. "And he has created an unassailable architecture of forbidden knowledge. Its name..." _Jesus, he really is in a dramatic mood this morning_. "Is Appledore." He turns the laptop to show them both, Ramona leaning forward in interest. Admittedly, if she could get to CAM, perhaps she could change his mind about a few things.

"Dinner." John blurts.

"Sorry, what, dinner?"

"Me and Mary, coming for dinner..." Ramona rolls her eyes, struggling not to shush the very ordinary man. "With... Wine and... Sitting." Sherlock stares at him for a second in disbelief.

"Seriously? I've just told you that the Western world is run from this house..." He points at the screen. "And you want to talk about dinner?"

"Fine, talk about the house." The two geniuses throw him an identical look, then turn back to his laptop while John looks towards the door as if expecting to wake up anytime soon.

"It is the greatest repository of sensitive and dangerous information anywhere in the world..."

An modern day Alexandrian Library of juicy secrets and scandals with the ability to bring countries to their knees-" Ramona muses.

"And none of it is on a computer. He's smart- computers can be hacked. It's all on hard copy in vaults..." He points at the rotating blueprint on the screen "Underneath that house; and as long as it is, the personal freedom of anyone you've ever met is a fantasy."

There's a sudden knock on the living room door, followed by Mrs Hudson's familiar, 'Ooh-ooh!' The door swings open and she appears.

"Ramona, dear, you look so healthy! Did you have a good holiday?" Ramona gives a tight lipped smile and nods, wondering if she looked like a walking corpse before she had actually been outside of the UK. "Oh, that was the doorbell. Couldn't you hear it?"

"It's in the fridge. It kept ringing."

"Oh, that's not a fault, Sherlock!" Ramona smirks, still slightly on edge, and actually feeling quite territorial from the home invasion that Janine had executed.

"Who is it?" The landlady draws in an anxious breath.

* * *

Sherlock turns to her, a fake smile plastered onto his features.

"Fetch me my dressing gown from my room, would you?" Ramona rolled her eyes at him.

"So you can lock the door behind me?" His face falls back to moody Sherlock, running his tongue over teeth in annoyance. "Again, with the keeping me out of sight from the bad guys. Why'd you think they'd care about me?"

"It's not _you _I'm concerned about." Ramona frowns at the cryptic sentence, John's eyes narrowing.

Suddenly, three men, quite obviously security men, all wearing earpieces, enter into the living room. The opposing three 'good guys' are stood by the fireplace, Ramona in the middle of the men, as they go to search them.

"Oh, go ahead." Sherlock says, mockingly. He spread his arms and allows one of the goons to frisk him. Two others walk over to John and Ramona, and they share a look.

"Can I perhaps have a second?" Sherlock looks over to her, putting his arms down from his frisking.

"Oh, she's fine." The men glances at Sherlock, then kneel down in front of John and Ramona, starting to frisk them, Sherlock's eyes glaring at the man frisking Ramona, remembering the last time a security man had laid a hand on her, clenching his jaw slightly.

"I should probably just-" The man reaches into her jean pocket, producing Bill's flick knife. "Right, _that,_" She points to the blade in his hand. "I can totally explain."

She nods, as the security guard then checks around her waistband, before pulling out the tyre lever, giving her a 'really?' look.

"_That,_ is... I like to tinker. Got a bike." She excuses herself, gesturing with her head to the window, as if pointing to the evidence, as John looks on, amused, and Sherlock smirking. The man, who clearly isn't in the least bit amused, then takes a huge butchers knife out of the space between her black leather belt, and the left side of her jeans.

"I also enjoy a bit of cooking, need to be prepared for any situation that might call on my culinary skills. Know what I mean?" She asks the man, confidentially, John struggling not to laugh, and thankful she had been so angry earlier.

"I can vouch for this woman. She's a..." His eyes narrow, studying her.

"Thin ice, Sherlock." Ramona warns, but wondering what he would define her as.

"If you know who I am, then you most definitely know who she is..." He turns his head towards the door as Magnussen walks in and stops just inside the doorway. "Don't you, Mr Magnussen?"

Ramona's security man steps to her side and faces his boss while Sherlock's stand at his side, and the John's waits in the kitchen.

"I understood we were meeting at your office." The man looked all three of them up and down consecutively, before looking around the room briefly.

"This is my office." He says, locking gazes with Ramona. Sherlock frowns momentarily in confusion, as she swallows and steels herself, trying to stare the man down with a glare that would have most floored. Magnussen walks slowly towards the sofa, then stops and turns to look at John.

Sherlock had been accurate in his zoomorphic metaphor. He was a predator, gliding through a sea of prey, but not executing his moves until he'd had a bit of fun with them, played with his food.

"Well, it is now." He continues on to the dining table, picks up the newspaper from it and then goes back in his tracks, sitting on the sofa.

"Mr Magnussen, I have been asked to intercede with you by Lady Elizabeth Smallwood on the matter of her husband's letters." Sherlock was trying to keep control of the situation that was obviously out his control, to the trios unease. Magnussen's ignoring him, paying more attention to what seems to be the uncomfortableness of the sofa. He looks at the newspaper in his hand.

"Some time ago you... Put pressure on her concerning those letters." Magnussen looks up at him. "She would like those letters back."

"Obviously the letters no longer have any practical use to you, so with that in mind..." He stops, perhaps noticing something about Magnussen's expression. Magnussen gives a quiet incredulous snort. Sherlock lets out an exasperated huff. "Something I said?"

"No, no. I-I was reading." He adjusts his glasses. "There's rather a lot." Sherlock frowns. "Redbeard." Ramona's jaw drops, and looks to gauge Sherlock's reaction, as he blinks and his mouth opens slightly in shock, taken off guard. "Sorry." He shakes his head. "S-sorry. You were probably talking?"

"I..." He pauses for a moment, and then clears his throat, putting back on his airs. It made Ramona extremely uneasy, perhaps even a little frightened, to see Sherlock so put off his precarious balance slipping on the upper hand. She decides to be the self assured one for now, for the consulting detective's sake.

"I was trying to explain that I've been asked to act on behalf of-" Magnussen is uninterested, looking to the security man in the kitchen.

"Bathroom?"

"Along from the kitchen, sir."

"Okay." Ramona narrows her eyes.

"I've been asked to negotiate the return of those letters." Sherlock's tone is more firm now. The shark takes off his glasses and looks to the window. "I'm aware you do not make copies of sensitive documents..."

"Is it like the rest of the flat?" He asks, gesturing around the flat.

"Sir?"

"The bathroom?"

"Er, yes, sir."

"Maybe not, then." Ramona pulls her head back and raises her eyebrows in annoyance. _Is it insult-the-house-you're-in day?_ She puts on her very convincing act, her most common 'I'm not scared, you're the one who should be scared' shining through.

"Am I acceptable to you as an intermediary?" Magnussen meets his eyes for a moment, then looks towards the window again.

"Lady Elizabeth Smallwood. I like her."

"Mr Magnussen, am I acceptable to you as an intermediary?"

"She's English, with a spine."

He lifts his right foot and puts it against the side of the coffee table, then pushes the table away from him. Sherlock frowns slightly, Ramona puts her tongue to the left side of her cheek in annoyance. Magnussen stands up.

Beside Sherlock, the second security man turns and steps forwards towards the fireplace, taking the fire guard away from the front of the unlit fire. Sherlock glances over his shoulder. Ramona's eye narrow.

"Best thing about the English..." He walks over to the three, standing right in front of Ramona, and looks at them consecutively. "You're so domesticated. All standing around, apologising..." He nods, and pushes Ramona out of the way, walking behind her dismissively. Sherlock grits his teeth. "Keeping your little heads down." _Sherlock?! SMALL head?! He obviously doesn't know him too well, then._

"He stands in front of the fireplace, facing it. The sound of him unzipping his trousers can be heard.

"You can do what you like here. No-one's ever going to stop you." Ramona is angry at this point, her patriotic side getting ready to throw a punch. She looks down and then quickly, slightly flustered, looks back up, face turning slightly red, the sound of CAM urinating into the fireplace can be heard. John blinks as if appalled and half-turns his head towards him. Sherlock keeps his head facing forward, his eyes fixed on the opposite wall, as she tries not to show a reaction.

"A nation of herbivores." Oh, he was asking for it. "I've interests all over the world but, er, everything starts in England. If it works here..." He shakes off and zips up his trousers. "I'll try it in a real country."

"I think you're forgetting something." Ramona states, her voice calm, with an underlying sound of anger. Magnussen smiles in satisfaction, and, turning around, and taking a wipe from his guard, cleans his hands, and turns back to face them, dropping the wipe on the floor, and walking back closer to her. Sherlock gives her a warning look, but she ignores him, as usual.

"Oh?" She smirks, her eyes narrowing, leaning forward to him, making herself as intimidating as possible. _At this point, being a man, being taller than him, and perhaps not being outnumbered would be helpful, but I improvise._

"I'm Irish." Magnussen takes a moment, and then grins.

"Oh, aren't you just." He dismisses her, fueling her hatred at the cryptic comment. "So the rumours are true, then." The three frown as he chuckles to himself, at the obviously very inside joke, and look at him curiously.

"What rumours?" She asks, her interest admittedly piqued.

"What? Oh, nothing." He smiles knowingly after dismissing himself, and she knows he's not talking about Project Guardian, as there _were _no rumours.

"Anyway. The United Kingdom, huh? Petri dish to the Western world. Tell Lady Elizabeth I might need those letters, so I'm keeping them. Goodbye." He turns as if to leave, then turns back and put his hand into his jacket's inside breast pocket.

"Besides..."He chuckles and pulls out the edge of a packet of documents to show Sherlock. "They're funny." Smirking, he tucks the packet back into his jacket and leaves the room. The security men follow him. As the sound of their feet can be heard clattering down the stairs, John takes a step forward.

"Jesus!" John exclaims, as Sherlock and Ramona's gazes lock for three seconds, in which he scolds her with a look, before turning back out of the little bubble.

"Did you notice the one extraordinary thing he did?"

"Wh..." John frowns in confusion. "There was a moment that kind of stuck in the mind, yeah." Ramona laughs, and raises her eyebrows at the fireplace.

"Exactly- when he showed us the letters."

"That was brilliant, don't you think?" She walks across the room, smiling, retracing the shark's steps, while John closes his eyes in disbelief. "The way he completely dominated the situation, getting us scared, provoking us, showing his ownership, quite literally pissing on our whole set up-" At this point, both the men were looking at her, concerned. "It was like art." She nods to herself, taking notes. "Now that's a villain!" The men share a look.

"...Okay." John says hesitantly, and Sherlock snaps back into himself.

"So he's brought the letters to London- so no matter what he says, he's ready to make a deal. Now, Magnussen only makes a deal once he's established a person's weaknesses- the 'pressure point', he calls it." He picks up his coat from a dining table chair.

"How'd you know that, exactly?" Ramona asks.

"Because I do." He answers cryptically, as she narrows her eyes.

"So, clearly he believes you're a drug addict and no serious threat." She mulled over this. What did that make her? He looks out of the window. "And, of course, because he's in town tonight, the letters will be in his safe in his London office while he's out to dinner with the Marketing Group of Great Britain from seven 'til ten."

"How- how do you know his schedule?" Ramona narrows her eyes, a question she'd like to know the answer to.

"Because I do. Right- I'll see you tonight, John. I've got some shopping to do. Ramona, come with me, I need a woman's opinion, you're the closest I've got to one so I suppose you'll have to do." He heads out of the door. Ramona grits her teeth, shares a look with John, and then they follow Sherlock.

"Cheeky bastard." She mutters under her breath.

"What's tonight?" John calls after him.

"I'll text instructions." He shouts up the stairs, as Ramona reaches him at the bottom.

"Yeah, I'll text you if I'm available."

"You are! I checked!" Ramona chuckles as John looks exasperated, heading for the door.

"Don't bring a gun." Sherlock says to him, now on the pavement of Baker street.

"Why would I bring a gun?" John asks, and Sherlock looks down at Ramona.

"Or a knife of any sort," He looks back at John. "Or a tyre lever. Probably best not to do any arm-spraining, but we'll see how the night goes." He puts an arm out for an approaching taxi.

"You're just assuming I'm coming along?" Ramona chuckles.

"Time you got out of the house, John." She says.

"You've put on seven pounds since you got married, and the cycling isn't doing it." He opens the cab door for Ramona as she gets in and slides across to the seat at the end.

"It's actually four pounds." Sherlock gets in, and looks at John through the half-open window.

"We think seven. See you later." He looks forward to the cabbie. "Hatton Garden."

The taxi drives away, leaving Ramona and him with an slight air of awkwardness.

"So, what do you need a 'woman's opinion' for, anyway?" She breaks the silence, as he looks from the window to her, inhaling sharply.

"An engagement ring." He states, gauging for a reaction. He had a strange feeling about her this morning, and he wanted to see what it was. She laughed in complete disbelief.

"Good one, Sherlock. But seriously, though." She looked straight forward, obviously amused, as he raised an eyebrow at her.

"I'm deadly serious." Her brow creases involuntarily for a moment, before turning to look at him, wariness in her eyes.

"You're also high." He looks up in thought, realising she had a point.

"True, but I'm not joking." She visibly swallows.

"A- are you serious?!" He blinks at her.

"Yes," He says, slowly, as if she were as slow as his precise words. "I told you; I'm-"

"No, no no no no no no." She folded her arms, looking forwards again and shaking her arms. "You can't be saying you actually want to marry her, can you?" He gives her an exasperated look. "You can't get married." She laughed. "I just can't allow it, I'm afraid."

"You can't, can you?" He asked, slight amusement, but a tone of seriousness in his voice, as if he were beginning to cotton on to something.

"Sherlock Holmes!" She cries, her tone incredulous and amused. "Getting married?! Sherlock Holmes wearing a wedding suit?! Sherlock Holmes saying vows?! Sherlock Holmes sitting down for a meal with actual people?! Sherlock Holmes having the first dance to a stupid cliched love song?! Sherlock Holmes consummating the-"

Ramona's heart jumped, as she began retracing her steps, realising she had probably gone too far.

_Romantic feelings are much harder to hide than I initially thought, god help me._

"Look, it's obvious you can't be that smitten with her- me and John had to come get you from a _drug den._" She tried to imagine Sherlock getting married, and just couldn't picture it. There was no doubt in her mind that he'd probably get cold feet and escape through a bathroom window, or something like that, or say no at the alter, which would be amusing.

"This is your first relationship ever, right? You're probably going a bit overboard, you should put more thought into it." He sighs exasperatedly. "I know your attitude to anything vaguely to do with sex is practically Victorian, but I didn't know you committed to an aesthetic this much." She grins slightly. "If you'll pardon the pun." Sherlock rolls his eyes at her sense of humour, as it was in fact not funny in the slightest, not even a tiny bit.

"Janine Holmes. There's a ring to it, wouldn't you say?" Ramona tries not to show a reaction, as she looks at him with an irritated expression.

"It really doesn't. You haven't even been going out for a year yet!"

"Your point?" She rolled her eyes, and looked out of the window, her mouth dry. Was Sherlock really serious about this?

Fright filled her. _Will I be able to bite my tongue when the priest says 'If anyone has reason for these two not to wed, speak now or forever hold your peace'?_ _Do they even say that in real life, or just soap operas?_ She decides to look it up when she gets home, but in the mean time, she fantisized about how it could play out.

_The silence is overbearing and heavy, and suddenly, I shoot up in my seat, walking down the row of seats, and into the aisle in front of the couple and the confused minister. _

_'Because I love you, Sherlock, so marry me!' Everyone looks at me, showing up Janine because I look better than her obviously. Sherlock's mouth parts in shock as the murmurs rise in the church. _

_'Ramona... I'm sorry, but I love Janine, not you.' He looks at me in shock, John cringing next to him. Janine smirks triumphantly, as I begin to be dragged off by two strong men. Mary's close to sympathetic tears and Hannah is full on crying. _

_Mycroft rolls his eyes in exasperation and pinches the bridge of his large nose, and the last thing I see before I'm thrown out is Sherlock looking around in awkwardness, asking if they can continue. _

Real-her cringes in a huge amount of embarrassment, although it hasn't even happened, distraught at her own way too vivid imagination. _Why do I lose even in my own fantasies? _

"Ramona?" Sherlock's baritone slaps her out of her horrific day dream. "I said, what do you think about this one?" He put a finger to the glass, and Ramona frowned slightly, realising her last memory had been in the taxi. Since when did she zone out so thoroughly?

And then, in her mind she started to piece together their first dance, to a soppy over used generic song, as she watched, out in the cold, through a window, before being chased out of the grounds of the reception by a huge group of feral dogs.

"Uh, um..." She let out an exhale, narrowing her eyes, and then shaking her head, more to shake one of the worst possible futures. Sherlock raised an eyebrow.

"As helpful as you're being, try to show a bit of enthusiasm." An attendant looked from one of them to the other, shaking her head sadly. Ramona laughed, realising what it looked like.

"No, it's not like that. We're friends, I'm giving a woman's opinion." The woman looks embarrassed, smiles, nods quickly and then walks off.

Ramona starts to look around the glass case, uninterested, thinking about how she could so easily pick the ugliest ring, and make Janine wear it for the rest of her life.

She grinned mischievously, but then realised she couldn't do that to Sherlock. She sighed, and suddenly, something caught her eye, making them widen in awe, her mouth parting. Sherlock watched her reaction, and followed her gaze.

The lights of the shop and the ones from the glass cases made for a warm, comforting ambiance. His eyes widen slightly, and his tone becomes softer.

"That one?" He realises that she's completely mesmerized by the ring, and his gaze softens even more, a gentle, even loving smile, directed at the unseeing girl. She was looking at a stunning, even impressive antique engagement ring, with what he calculated to be a 2.36 carat diamond and platinum cluster ring. There was a pierced decorated frame, that displayed a central feature Old European round cut diamond, set higher in a claw, above and surrounded by ten smaller round diamonds.

It was as if the person who had made it had styled it just for her, which was impossible, as it was around a hundred years old. From the import and hallmark he deducted that it was French, and set with high clarity graded diamonds. It was beautiful, and she nodded ever so slightly.

He went to gesture an attendant at that moment, but Ramona quickly turned to him and pulled his arm down, shaking her head quickly.

"No, anything but that one." He lowers his arm, their gazes intensely locked. "That one... She can't have it." _As well._ She finished in her mind, feeling a sudden urge to burst into tears. "Please."

"It's lovely, isn't it?" An different attendant says behind her, making Ramona jump. She was in her late thirties, with kind, warm brown eyes and chestnut hair, and an air about her that made you relax.

"Y-yeah. It is."

"It's one of our special ones. It'll be snapped up quickly, I'll tell you that much." She says, with a smile, and Ramona's heart sinks, annoyed at herself that she cared about something so menial.

"Well," Ramona starts to reply, with a nice tone, not harsh in the slightest. "You can save me the sales pitch, 'cause I'm not a bride to be of any kind." The woman's eyes widen slightly, looking from her to Sherlock with a troubled expression. "I'm just here to give a second opinion."

Ramona successfully hid the sadness overriding her, and the intense urge to break down. Why did the powers that be have to do this? Taunt, and tease her like this, put something right under her nose, showing it to her, and then sliding it away from her grasp when she reached for it? She wanted Sherlock, and she wanted the ring, but she could have neither. She couldn't have the thing that she desired most in the entire universe, and it made her feel sick with desperation in the pit of her stomach.

"You could always try it on." She winked, brightening her depressed state slightly, Ramona's face lighting up momentarily, before it sunk back into a fake cheerful politeness.

"I- I don't think that's going to be, um," She fought with her inner need to slip the ring on her finger, and scream into Sherlock's face about how good it looked on her, and how he should definitely propose to her with it. "I'm really just here to, ah," She broke out in nervous laughter, begging for someone to save her. She looked to Sherlock instinctively.

"Why not, it doesn't seem like we're getting anywhere anyway." He stated, and she swallowed. This really was all that bad karma coming to bite her in the bottom.

The attendant unlocks the glass case, and carefully picks the silver antique up and out of the case. Ramona swallowed, eyes wide, as Sherlock stood beside her, hands in his pockets, an amused, but interested smile on his face.

The woman slides the ring onto her thin finger, and her heart skips a beat. She looks down at it on her hand, admiring one of the most beautiful things she had ever seen in her life, now placed on her finger.

"It's a perfect fit!" She exclaims, and Ramona struggles not to scream in frustration. _Of course it is, because as we all know, God hates me!_

"Yeah..." She holds up her hand to the light, wiggling her fingers slightly, admiring the glint of the diamond in the light. "All I need to do now is find a dress, a venue, a photographer... Oh, and I might be in need of someone to actually marry!" She exclaims, not looking away from the ring, making Sherlock chuckle slightly.

The woman notices this, and sees the look in his eyes, his blue eyes practically sparkling, and her heart almost breaks. Couldn't he see what she so obviously wanted?

"So, who's the lucky lady?" She asks. Sherlock blinks, and looks down at her, still grinning.

"What? Oh, just my girlfriend." The woman raises an eyebrow. _Just _his girlfriend?

"Oh yeah, Janine." Ramona said, a smile still on her face, not being able to rip her gaze away from the delicate sight of a beautiful diamond on her ring finger. Why was she so enchanted? Never once had she thought of marriage as a goal in her life, that was, unless the extremely right person came along.

Her eyes flickered involuntarily to Sherlock, and she suddenly feels a frog in her throat._ Oh god, am I going to start crying in front of all these people? In front of Sherlock?_

She quickly takes the ring off her finger, and hands it back to the attendee.

"Thank you so much." She expresses her gratitude with a slightly choked, small voice. Sherlock's brow creases in confusion momentarily. The woman takes the ring from her, and places it back into its stand delicately. Ramona watches as something so perfect is taken away from her, and fights back tears threatening to emerge in her eyes.

"What'll it be, then?" She asks, mainly to her, as Sherlock watches her with a wary look. Ramona turns to the case quickly, hiding her expression, and pointing down at a modern, ring, with three moderate diamonds on the silver band. It was nice, but it certainly wasn't as unique as the one that had pushed her over the edge.

"That one." She states. The woman takes it, and goes over to the counter, to begin the process of giving it the once over, and then putting it into that iconic shaped deep red box.

"Are you..." Sherlock begins, his voice trailing off, looking at the back of her head, as she refused to face him. He puts a hand on her shoulder. "Ramona, are you alright?" She shakes her head dismissively, shaking off his hand.

"I've got to run a few errands. See you later." She manages to not make it obvious that she was about to break down. The pressure was too much, all the different emotions she had experienced since seeing Sherlock again was too much, and the over bearing feeling that everything was about to come crashing down around her was definitely too much.

_Absence definitely makes the heart grow fonder. _

She hurries out of the shop, leaving a startled Sherlock to watch her leave, starting to feel apprehensive himself, and confused, to say the least.

Pacing out and into the busy street, she found herself hurrying through the crowds, quite literally running away from her feelings, and staring at the ground, as a quiet choked sob escaped her, a subtle tear falling, as it began to rain. At least that was one good thing. The rain became heavier in seconds, and loud, allowing her to cry silently with a shocked expression, her throat tightening and tightening every second she stifled herself.

If Sherlock got married, if he moved on, if he left her... She supposed she should now change all of the ifs to whens. She grits her teeth, and hails a cab, now wet through, wiping her face, and pulling what little fragments remained of her together.

* * *

"Excuse me?" Sherlock asked the attendee, unsure of what he was actually doing.

"That ring." He eyed the antique art imprisoned in glass walls. "Could I have that, too, please?"

Sherlock frowned at himself, whilst every bone in his body was screaming for him not to, he found himself wanting to purchase the ring. The thought of someone else wearing it was out of the question, as no matter who it was, they'd definitely never do it justice the way Ramona could. The memory of her face of awe runs through his mind, and he finds himself smiling.

"Um... You want to buy two engagement rings?" He blinks at the woman. The price of Janine's ring was simply money towards a case, but the one Ramona had tried on- it was implausible to logically buy it, seeing as it was five grand.

"Clearly." He states, as she makes a 'fair enough' face, and goes over to retrieve it from the glass case. What was he doing? And more importantly, why was he doing it? Sherlock sighed to himself, and put his fingers to his temples lightly, beginning to get a headache from the roar in his mind.

* * *

**I actually upset myself writing the last bit, what the hell me?!**

**Did have quite a bit of fun writing that fantasy scenario though, and writing Ramona's thoughts, which sort of take the mick out of everything going on around her, but idk, do you enjoy seeing her thoughts?**

**Oh, and the ring is a real one, I had quite a good rummage around antique websites to find the right one, as weird as it sounds. If you want to see what it looks like, cos I had quite a hard time describing it, google '****2.36 ct Diamond and Platinum Cluster Ring' Its the first and second photos on google images lol**

**I also realised this story now has 69 followers, and I'm immature to the extreme, and it's making me giggle everytime I look at it, which is definitely embarrassing**

**Thank you sooooo much for reading :) Reviews are hugely hugely appreciated, and as you can tell, clamoured for by yours truly!**


	46. Strong

**Strong - London Grammar**

**Unfortunately, I don't own anything apart from my ocs**

* * *

It's evening.

Sherlock, Ramona, and John are stood in a corridor of the bottom floor of a huge skyscraper, discussing how to break in- or, more realistically, Sherlock's showing off, telling them both how exactly they're going to break in.

The consulting detective passes John his coffee cup. He takes it with a hint of annoyance and slight exasperation, as Ramona stares down at hers as it warms both of her hands. Sherlock takes his phone from his coat.

"But if I do this..." He presses a security card to his phone. "If you press a key card against your mobile phone for long enough, it corrupts the magnetic strip. The card stops working. It's a common problem- never put your key card with your phone. What happens if I use the card now?"

"It still doesn't work." Ramona was quiet. Admittedly, she was still hung up on the small footnote in her miserable life story, in which Sherlock gets married and moves to the country to have lots of dark haired, know it all children with Janine, leaving her a lonely spinster with nothing but a couple of cats, along with a tendency to stay inside for years on end and eat her own body weight in chocolate every day.

"But it doesn't read as the wrong card now." Sherlock states. She had to stop thinking. She had to bring her consciousness into the present. She had to make the most of what she had.

"It registers as corrupted. But if it's corrupted, it could easily just be Magnussen."

"Would they risk dragging him off?" Sherlock asks.

"Probably not." John says.

"So what do they do? What do they have to do?" His gaze turns to her.

"Check to see who it is." She replies.

"There's a camera at eye height to the right of the door." He pauses for dramatic effect. "A live picture of the card user is relayed directly to Magnussen's personal staff in his office- the only people trusted to make a positive ID. At this hour, almost certainly his PA."

"S-so how's that help us?" Sherlock smiles along the camera.

"Human error." He raises his hand to the breast pocket of his coat and pats it. "I've been shopping." Her heart practically stops, as she pieces a few things together.

_"It really hasn't got a lot to do with the actual newspaper," Janine looked amused. "I'm a PA for the owner of CAM Global News-"_

_Oh, oh no. _

Ramona shakes her head, eyes wide in horror. _Does he actually have the capacity to be this harsh?_ _Could he really get a woman to fall in love with him, and successfully manipulate her, all to get into an office? Either way, I'm not happy._

"Here we go, then." He presses the card against the reader. A circle on the reader screen, and the words CAM GLOBAL NEWS at the bottom of the screen, both turn from blue to red and there's a beep.

"You realise you don't exactly look like Magnussen." John looks from him to Ramona, and her shell-shocked expression, getting even more confused.

"Which, in this case, is a considerable advantage." Sherlock murmurs, his lips barely moving as he looked confidently into the camera.

"Sherlock, you complete loon! What are you doing?!" Ramona screws her eyes shut, cringing for the woman, who was so obliviously obsessed with Sherlock Holmes, she had yet to notice just how big of a mistake it was to ever fall in love with a man that could never love back.

_And you're too clever for that, are you?_

Sherlock smiles more widely into the camera, and John looks round in surprise.

"Hang on- was that...? That...!" Sherlock holds up the flat of his hand to him to stop him and talks into the camera.

"Hi, Janine." He looks around secretively. "Go on, let me in."

"I can't! You know I can't. Don't be silly."

"Don't make me do it out here. Not..." He pauses and turns his head to glance at a woman walking past, then once she's gone he turns back to the camera. "In front of everyone. "

"Do what in front of everyone?" Ramona grits her teeth in unfurled rage, putting a hand on her forehead, as if to cover her eyes from sun.

Beside him, John smiles and nods politely at another woman as she walks past.

Sherlock lowers his eyes and blows out a big breath, then takes out a small dark red box and clicks it open before holding it up to the camera to show the large diamond engagement ring inside it.

Janine gasps and straightens up, clapping her hand to her mouth. Ramona stares at the ring in complete despair.

Sherlock holds the box in front of his face and turns on his biggest puppy dog eyes over the top of it as he looks into the camera and then smiles. _He's so manipulative, so fake, so utterly despicable... It's quite sexy, actually. Wait, what?! Am I finding his sociopathic tendencies attractive? _

Ramona realises in this instant, that she's just another victim to fall prey to his enigmatic charm, she wasn't the first, and certainly not the last.

Janine lets out a delighted laugh. Downstairs the card reader screen turns from red to blue and the lift doors open. Sherlock grins into the camera, then clicks the box closed and turns to them both, John's mouth is open as he stares at his friend. Ramona feels like either crying, or screaming, or maybe just beating Sherlock up right there.

"You see? As long as there's people, there's always a weak spot."

"That was Janine."

"Yes, of course it was Janine. She's Magnussen's PA. That's the whole point."

"Did you just get engaged to break into an office?" Ramona walks into the lift.

"Yeah." He steps into the lift. "Stroke of luck, meeting her at your wedding. You can take some of the credit."

"Je-Jesus!" He looks down at the coffee cups he's still holding, then drops them into a bin just outside the lift before getting in.

"Sherlock, she-" Ramona looks up at Sherlock, her voice more quiet than she hoped, as she steeled herself, their gazes locking. "She loves you." He frowns momentarily, and then looks away.

"Yes. Like I said- human error." He said, staring ahead of himself flatly. The doors close, and the lift begins its ascent. Ramona feels absolutely horrified at these words. She couldn't work out what he meant. _Is__ it that to love anyone or thing was an error, or that to love him was an unmistakable human error, one that should be taken advantage of? Then again, has he ever showed the slightest bit of attention to anyone that couldn't get him something? _Her heart drops, wondering what he wanted from her.

"What are you gonna do?"

"Well, not actually marry her, obviously." Sherlock looks round to him. "There's only so far you can go." She tightens her fist.

"So what're you gonna say?" Ramona asks. Sherlock briefly looks at her before facing the front.

"Well, I'll tell her that our entire relationship was a ruse to break into her boss' office. I imagine she'll want to stop seeing me at that point... But you're the woman here."

"Oh, I think she'll want to do a lot more than stop seeing you." Ramona says, an ominous tone creeping into her voice, praying that Janine was in fact secretly a master in mixed martial arts, and would break more than a few bones in his cruel body.

The lift stops at floor 32 and the doors open. Sherlock turns on his human smile, which to Ramona was frankly disturbing, and walks out, bobbing up and down in a normal way as he looks around for his new fiancée. After a moment he stops, looking around more carefully and frowning when there's no sign of her.

"So where did she go?" John asks.

"It's a bit rude. I just proposed to her." Ramona laughs.

_I can't feel this way about him. It's destructive, it's ruined me in a matter of hours. And this just proves my point, as if I needed more evidence- Sherlock doesn't believe in love. He doesn't love. He knows the science, but will certainly never experience it. I have to ignore it. I have to ignore it, and it'll go away. Symptoms of infatuation fade after around eight months, but I've felt like this for years. I even checked a website, and it said that if the things like sweaty palms, raised heartbeat and butterflies persisted for more than these eight months, I should go to a doctor. A bloody doctor... Just treat him like a friend, and he'll become just that. Platonic to the bone._

"She's done a runner, mate!" Ramona laughs again, hoping that she actually has, just to see the look on Sherlock's face. The detective frowns momentarily at the endearment, deciding he definitely didn't like being called that by her. Bastard would be better, coming from her.

John walks across the room towards the window and stops in his tracks.

"Sherlock..." Sherlock walks over as John bends down to her. Janine's lying on the floor.

"Did she faint? Do they really do that?" She rolls her eyes. John takes his hand from her head and finds blood on his fingers.

"It's a blow to the head." He bends lower to her. Ramona felt concern for the woman, even if Sherlock had wanted to actually marry her, she would still want her to be alive. "She's breathing. Janine?" She moans quietly. Sherlock looks round the rest of the office and sees something in an adjoining room. He walks across the office

"Another in here." John doesn't leave his patient. In the next room Sherlock looks at the unconscious suited man lying face down on the floor, then does a full-circle turn to look around the rest of the room.

"Security."

"Does he need help?" Sherlock walks to the man's side and looks down at him. Behind his left ear.

"Ex-con." Ramona joins him.

"A white supremacist?" Ramona narrows her eyes in disgust and disbelief, as Sherlock nods.

"So who cares?" Sherlock retorts.

"Stay with her." She tells John. "Nothing here but filth."

"Janine, focus on my voice now. Can you hear me?"

Sherlock looks around the room again and then goes to the nearby glass desk. He bends down, holding his hand over the top of it while looking at it closely, then works his way round to the other side, looking carefully at everything. He squats down to the leather chair behind the desk and puts his hand on the seat to work out the temperature of the leather.

Suddenly, Ramona's jaw drops, and she realises something extremely important. _The intruder's still here. The incredibly dangerous intruder's still in the vicinity, and once Sherlock works it out..._

Ramona slips away from the small group subtly, quickly making her way to the stairwell.

Up in Magnussen's private penthouse flat, Ramona hurries softly along the carpeted hall towards where he can hear Magnussen talking quietly and sounding very anxious and almost tearful.

"What-what-what would your husband think, eh?" She walks carefully towards the sound, careful not to give herself away.

"He... your lovely husband, upright, honourable..." Ramona leans into the small gap, and spots Magnussen on his knees, hands behind his head. "So English. What- what would he say to you now?" Standing in front of him, someone dressed all in black and wearing black gloves pulls back the pistol and silencer they are pointing at Magnussen and cocks the gun before pointing the business end at him again. He cowers, whimpering and momentarily lapsing into Danish.

"Nej, nej!" Ramona pushes the door open, and closes it quietly behind her, twisting her wrist behind her to lock the door, in case Sherlock made an appearance.

" You're- you're doing this to protect him from the truth... But is this protection he would want?"

"I think so, yeah."

Ramona says, thinking that it's directed at her, slowly walking to stand a few feet behind the person holding the gun, who is also wearing a black knitted cap on their head, covering their hair.

"Y'know, if you're gonna assassinate someone, changing your perfume always helps. But hey, I want him dead just as much as you do, so please, be my guest. I won't kiss and tell." The potential killer raises the gun a little, turning it slightly to the left. "Lady Smallwood." Magnussen straightens a little, breathing out a long shaky breath.

"Sorry, Who?" She focuses on the back of the assassin. His gaze goes from her to the face of his potential killer as the person adjusts their grip on the pistol.

"That's... Not... Lady Smallwood, Miss Doherty." Her eyes twitch to narrowed, and she studies the back of the assassin. _The only other person I know that wears Claire De La Lune is..._

The person in black turns to face him, aiming the pistol at him, and Ramona sees the face of Mary Elizabeth Watson.

She inhales quickly, eyes widening in complete shock.

"...Mary?" She says, barely above a whisper.

She was a liar. Mary Elizabeth Watson was a liar. And a good one, at that.

"Is John with you?"

"He's downstairs, Mrs Watson." She nods.

"So, what do you do now? Kill us both?" Ramona draws in a breath, realising what this was. This was the location where she would die for Sherlock Holmes.

Keeping her pistol aimed in front of her, Mary smiles humorlessly over her shoulder towards him before turning her gaze back to Ramona. As she speaks, Magnussen slowly lowers his hands and begins to reach down towards the floor on his left.

"He has something on me, too. We can help each other. We'll keep it from both of them, no one has to find out."

Suddenly, the door handle rattles, and everyone snaps to look at it.

"Ramona?" Sherlock's voice. Everyones eyes widen. "Magnussen?" Ramona shifts her weight to one foot, preparing to take a step forwards, arms held out in front of her in surrender. "Open the door!" He shouts, his voice slightly panicked.

"Oh, Mona, if you take one more step I swear I will kill you." Shock runs through her, her mouth parting in shock.

"Sherlock? What's going on?" John voice can be heard, as everyone looks at the door.

"She's in there with the intruder, possibly Magnussen. The doors locked." His words were quick. "She's locked the door."

"Ramona?" John tries, and Ramona's mouth begins to dry in excitement, her heart speeding up, as Mary and her lock gazes.

And she realises what she has to do.

"Do it." She says, quietly at first. Mary looks at her in disbelief.

"What?" she whispers.

"Shoot me." She says, her voice getting stronger and louder. _I don't feel sad. I don't feel anything._

"Ramona-" Mary begins, in another whisper.

"Just kill me!" She shouts, and watches Magnussen's eyes widen in surprise. Ramona realises she's completely prepared. _Why am I not scared? _

Mary goes to say something, but is cut off by one of the most frightening things she had ever heard.

"_Kill me!" _She shouts ferociously, and sees Mary freeze. Sherlock's eyes widen and his heart drops.

"RAMONA!" A roar from outside. "Help me break this down!" Sherlock orders, his voice shaking.

_"NOW-" _At this, Mary pulls the trigger, ripping the loudest scream possible from her mouth.

The bullet impacts her lower chest.

"It's too strong." She hears John, his voice horrified and she hears fast footsteps, leaving.

Magnussen straightens up again.

Her eyes lose focus and an expression of pain appears on her face as Mary sighs regretfully. She looks down at the bullet hole and after a moment, her white shirt begins to turn crimson.

"I'm sorry, Ramona. Truly I am."

"Mary?" She whispers, looking around in slight confusion, looking around with narrowed eyes.

She turns and points her pistol down at Magnussen. her eyes widen, feeling her conscious being entering her mind palace, against her own free will. Something inside of her was pulling out all the stops, taking care of her.

Ramona realises that her sub-consciousness has put the room into a vivid freeze frame. Her mind was entering into its most powerful state, one of automatic, emergency self preservation.

The room darkens, and she hears an alarm blaring.

As the alarm continues, she is suddenly running quickly down the flights of a staircase in a white-walled building. Everything is decaying and unlived in- the paint is peeling from the walls, the concrete of the uncarpeted stairs is crumbling and the crimson paint on the bannisters is cracking off. She clings to the bannister and braces her other hand on the wall as she continues an uncontrollable rapid descent downwards.

Back in Magnussen's room, Molly- wearing her white lab coat- walks around behind her. She reels and turns around to watch the woman, meeting eye to eye.

"It's not like in all the films you watch. There's not a great big spurt of blood and you go flying backwards."

She walks in front of the dazed woman, and everything turns white.

"The impact isn't spread over a wide area." She looks around in confusion, to realise that she's in a white walled mortuary. Molly walks over to a body lying on a table in the middle of the room. The body is covered with a white sheet and has an identity tag tied to one bare toe.

"It's tightly focused, so there's little or no energy transfer." She reaches down and starts to pull back the sheet covering the body. Ramona is lying under the sheet, naked, and her eyes closed, skin paper white.

"You stay still..." She pulls the sheet down the her waist, revealing the bullet hole in her lower chest. "And the bullet pushes through."

Her point of view changes to the dead version of her for a moment, vision starting to double and blur.

"The odds of you dying are stacked against us, so we need to focus." Ramona receives a harsh slap. The words are hers, but coming out of Molly's mouth, in Molly's voice.

She gasps, as if coming up for air from submersion, and opens her eyes again, to see that she's back in Magnussen's penthouse.

"I said..." Molly appears from nowhere, but her subconscious decides this isn't enough.

Sherlock is now towering over her, his face stern.

"Focus." The word in his voice widens her eyes, and he flickers back to Molly, as if a hologram, and she gets another hard slap. Ramona's head snaps round and before she can turn back around, they're back in the mortuary, her own dead body lying before her, covered by the sheet up to her shoulders. Ramona reels in confusion, looking around.

It's all well and clever having a Mind Palace, but you've only three seconds of consciousness left to use it. So, if you're so clever, what's going to kill you?"

She looks down at her own surreal dead body, narrowing her eyes, thinking, trying to block out the panic alarm.

"My smoking habit, probably." She says, not being able to stop quipping, even in her final moments. "Blood loss?"

"Exactly." Her vision of Molly begins to flicker on and off, the hologram wavering, the voice turning into her own for a moment. She frowns, and squeezes her eyes shut, opening them again.

"So, it's all about one thing now."

Ramona sways, the loud alarm finally fades out and goes silent.

"Forwards or backwards?"

She lowers her head and closes her eyes, her own voice rapidly repeating the question, doubling into shouts and whispers overlapping themselves.

Its's back to reality, staring ahead of herself in a blank state.

"We need to decide which way you're going to fall." Only her voice can now be heard, as if another her was submerging, coming out of hiding.

Behind her, while Mary and Magnussen remain frozen in place, Anderson walks over and stops behind her. He's wearing white medical gloves. Molly walks towards Ramona from halfway across the room.

"How many holes?"

"...What?" Her voice was groggy.

"Is the bullet still inside you, or is there an exit wound?" Her perspective changes, as she is being lectured by the two, they vanish into thin air.

She falls to her knees, squeezing her eyes shut in pain, wrapping her arms around her chest, grabbing air into her lungs sharply.

"It'll depend on the gun."

"Or..." She chokes out through the torment, breathless. "I can just... Roll over... And..." She lets out a sob of pure agony.

"Ramona." Her head falls, hearing Sherlock's voice. "Look at me." She pulls her head up with mammoth effort, still reeling, intense and harsh pale eyes holding hers, keeping her awake. "Which one?"

She narrows her eyes, desperately trying to focus.

She looks across a limited collection of white diagrams, and pulls up a pistol identified as Cat-077839 and it grows larger, turning a strangely lively hue of red. She moves on to another gun which also turns the colour. The first part of the identification tag is the same, but its number is 173634.

"Which one?" She frowns deeply, holding her face by the temples, still on her knees.

"Oh, for God's sake, Ramona." She looks up, and sees that she's now in a court, Mycroft sat in the Judges seat, her knelt below the ever towering man, who looks down at her in disgust.

"It's not about the gun, don't be stupid." She reels again, letting out a breath she didn't realise she was holding. She was so _tired. _All she wanted to do was sleep. _I could. I could just..._

"She's always so _stupid_." She looks up in shock, and sees her sister, standing beside Mycroft, smirking that beautiful smirk the boys loved.

"Such a stupid girl." Mycroft agrees.

"I'm not..." She looks up at the ceiling. "I'm smart."

Suddenly, they're in the Diogenes Club, in Mycroft's office, as they both circle her, vultures around a corpse.

"You're a very stupid little girl."

"Mum's so _disappointed,_ Mona." Her sister states in a matter-of-fact way. "She does everything for us, and this is how you repay her? By throwing away that life she gave everything up to give to you?"

"How are you ever supposed to protect him if you can't even take care of yourself? Perhaps my judgement was wrong."

Their voices begin to be repeated by her own, echoing and jumping around in the room and bombarding her, not realising that these words were in fact all of her own creation.

"Shut up!" She shouts, crying out in agony as soon as she did. Mycroft rolls his eyes.

"It doesn't matter about the gun. You saw the whole room when you entered it. What was directly behind you when you were murdered?"

"Don't write me off so easily." She spits out. Mycroft leans down to her, leaning on his umbrella, Ciara crouching besides her, the two older siblings exchanging a mocking look, and then looking back at her condescendingly.

"Balance of probability." He says.

"Duh!"

She looks around, and the loud alarm begins to blare again as she turns her head to look up and behind her.

There was a row of panelled mirrors that she could just see through her blurring vision.

"If the bullet had passed through you, what would you have heard?"

"Shattering."

"But you didn't, did you?" Ciara asks rhetorically.

"Therefore...?" Mycroft tests her.

"It's still inside me." She hears herself say, still on her knees.

"So, we need to take her down backwards." Andersons voice can be heard.

"I agree. Ramona..." She looks up, and sees Molly looking down at her. "Fall on your back."

"Right now, the bullet is the cork in the bottle." Anderson says, as the alarm starts to fade away again. "The bullet itself is blocking most of the blood flow. But any pressure or impact on the entrance wound could dislodge it."

"Plus, on your back, gravity's working for us." Molly adds.

The room takes on a red hue, and Sherlock appears.

Without a word, or an expression, he crouches down in front of her, holding her gaze, and pushes her onto the ground with one light push forward to the middle of her forehead with his index finger. Her eyes half close as she falls silently.

As her back hits the ground, carpet turns to steel, and she finds herself lying in a mortuary. She cries out in shock, jumping up and off it, suddenly back in the bright white mortuary room, standing upright, and the alarm is blaring louder than ever.

She stumbles back against the cabinets in the wall, claps her hands to her ears and cries out in distress.

"What the?! What's going on?!" She lowers her hands and looks around in confusion. Beside her, one of the cabinet doors opens and the tray slides out. Her own dead body is lying on the tray with her eyes closed, yet again. She jumps back and screams piercingly.

"You're going into shock." She straightens up. "It's the next thing that's going to kill you."

"What do I do?!" She grabs onto Molly's arms. "Help me!" She doesn't realise she's pleading with herself.

The lights in the room flicker on and off and Molly dissipates into the air through her fingers. She stumbles backwards, to be met with a body like a brick wall. She whips around, looks up, and meets Mycroft's icy gaze.

"Don't go into shock, obviously." The alarm continues to sound, as he rolls his eyes slightly. Ciara walks up behind Mycroft, and puts an arm up, resting herself on Mycroft's shoulder.

"Must be something in this stupid thingamajig of yours that can calm you down." She tells her doppelganger.

"Calm you down." His voice echoes in Ciara's voice, as the lights flicker on and off again, and above the alarm, she can hear the sound of someone switching them on and off.

She's suddenly standing in a hallway. It was completely a fictional place she had made up, and she started running, as if from something.

"He's coming to get you." John's voice echoes through her mind, shocking her. "He's coming to get you, and he'll take everything you love."

She stumbles down the stairs, trying to remain in control, as the alarm stops.

"He's coming to take you away, he'll destroy your life, and he'll smile as he does it." She hears her own voice following her.

Ramona finds a door and opens it quickly. It's Mary stood before her, wearing her wedding dress and with a white veil over her face, she stands facing Ramona, aiming the pistol at her. She fires and Ramona screams silently, as if her voice was muffled underwater, and falls backwards in slow-motion. Before she hits the floor he's suddenly in a long corridor lined with wooden doors. Mycroft's voice sounds in her head as she races along the corridor, panicked.

"Find it."

She runs to a nearby door and pulls it open. White light floods out and then she's suddenly in 221B.

She looks around in confusion, spinning around the room, before she spins once more, and is met with Sherlock in front of her, glowing in an ethereal fashion, smiling at her genuinely, opening his arms wide, and she falls into him, as he wraps his arms around her, his coat seeming to wrap all the way around her.

"D'you know what happens when you don't feel the shock, Ramona?" His voice was quiet and gentle in her ear.

"Sherlock?" Suddenly, he pushes her back violently, causing her to land on the floor, suddenly turning to tile, Sherlock transforming into Kain, producing a butchers knife and stalking towards her.

"You feel the pain!" He shouts.

She screams out in utter agony and terror, starting to convulse on the cold tile, as the white turns to red around her, dyed by her own blood.

"There's a hole ripped through you. Massive internal bleeding." Molly's there, Kain's gone.

She continues to convulse, her features contorted in an inhumane amount of torture, her mouth open in silent screams.

"You have to control the pain." Molly tells her. She shakes her head, tears of pain streaking down the side of her face and into her hair, desperately gasping for air.

Suddenly she's in a long, dark hallway, the lights flickering on and off, as she sprints through it, and runs straight through a door, and reachs a pentagonal room at the heart of her mind palace. The floor is plain concrete and the walls are heavily padded with a dirty greyish-brown material.

On the opposite side of the cell to the door, a man crouches on the floor, leaning against the wall with his head lowered. The door slams shut hard, trapping her inside.

On the other side of the room the man- who is wearing a filthy white straitjacket and has a large, heavy metal collar around his neck with a heavy chain fastened to it- slowly turns his head a little towards Ramona. His breathing is loud, and Ramona stares at him in horror. She leans up against the wall, flattening herself away from him.

"You. You never felt any fear for death either, did you?" She slumps, and slides slightly down the padded wall. "Why am I not frightened?" She lets out a choked sob. "And why... Why did you never feel pain?"

"You always feel pain and fear, Mona." His voice is soothing and gentle.

James Moriarty turns his head some more and looks across at her, his face suddenly murderous. His face is dirty and flushed dark red with rage.

The lights around the walls flicker briefly and Jim surges up and charges towards her, his mouth wide and roaring with fury. She recoils, petrified, but just before Jim can crash into her, the chain on his collar, fastened to the wall behind him, reaches its full length and prevents him from going further. He shouts manically in her face.

"We just know we don't have to fear it!" Ramona doubles over, crying out in fear. Jim stares at her, wide-eyed and quite obviously completely insane, as she crumples slowly to his knees and then slumps over onto her back. Jim continues to stare down at her while Ramona writhes.

"Pain. Heartbreak. Loss."

She rolls onto his side, her face screwed tight and tears streaming from her eyes as she tries to fight the pain tearing her apart from the inside, eating away at her agonizingly.

"Death. It's all good." She finds herself convulsing, but agreeing. He gets into his knees.

"It's all good." She hears her own voice mirroring his.

* * *

Rewind time a few minutes, and Sherlock runs back down the hallway. John turns around in shock, as Sherlock proceeds to break the lock on the door with a swift and strong motion.

"Where'd you find that?" Sherlock throws the axe down behind him and kicks the door, it swings open easily.

He looks around, and his eyes widen when he finds Ramona on her back, her jacket covering her chest.

"Fuck!" John flinches at the sound of a swear from Sherlock, deciding this was definitely the bad influence of Ramona, but his jaw drops at the sight of said woman. The detective runs over, and kneels at her side, John follows just as quickly.

"She's got a pulse." He bends over to put an ear to her mouth. "Still breathing." John states. "Ramona?" There was no reaction. "Ramona? Can you hear me?"

"What happened?" John asks Magnussen, as Sherlock takes one of her hands and stares intently into her face.

"She got shot."

"Jesus." John says, as Sherlock's eyes widen, his heart stopping for a second. Sherlock flips open her leather jacket, and sees her once white top, now completely saturated with red.

"Ramona..." Sherlock whispered, completely frozen, not knowing what to say, petrified at the thought of losing her. His breathing becomes quicker.

Magnussen picks up his glasses which had fallen to the floor. John straightens up on his knees and reaches into his jeans pocket. Sherlock snaps to look sternly across at the shark, taking in a sharp inhale.

"Who shot her?!" Sherlock shouts, fury that John's never seen before in his face and voice, features contorted into an ugly snarl, his jaw tensed.

"TELL ME!" Magnussen sits up and puts his glasses on, then looks across calmly, not replying to the detective, who decided he had more important things to worry about.

He looks back at her, feeling her pulse start to slow.

"No, no, no, no," His vision began to mist, as he tries to swallow the lump in his throat. John stares at him, eyes wide, having never seen his normally calm and collected friend in such a panicked state of frenzy. "Please God no-"

* * *

Back in the padded cell, the lighting has turned a sea green colour as Ramona continues to convulse violently on the floor, sapphire eyes wide. Beside her, Jim is back on his feet, and he begins to sing slowly and softly.

"It's raining, it's pouring. Sherlock is boring..." _Sherlock._

Her convulsions begin to stop.

" I'm laughing, I'm crying..." _Sherlock Holmes._

Her eyes gaze up at the dirty ceiling, vision doubling, beginning to darken.

"Ramona is dying."

* * *

The ambulance races through the London streets. In the back of it, a paramedic cuts Ramona's shirt in half with a huge pair of scissors. An oxygen mask has been strapped to her face. Her eyes are closed, in a way that would suggest they would be like this for the rest of time.

"Ramona, please." A voice, shrouded in emotion, reaches her. Her eyes open slightly, in both realms.

On his knees in the padded cell, Jim leans forward as far as his chain will let him and breathes out heavily into her face, making her grimace at the smell and heat.

"Come on, Ramona."

"Just die, why don't you?" He lies down on his side on the floor and puts his face close to her head, whispering into her ear.

"One little push, and off you pop." He pauses. "You don't care either way, though, do you? Being alive's definitely overrated, trust me." Ramona turns onto her back.

* * *

In an operating theatre in a hospital, a heart monitor is letting out a single continuous tone and a flat line rolls across the screen ominously.

One of several surgeons surrounding the operating table does a few more heart compressions on Ramona's chest and then withdraws his hands.

The doctors turn away from the table, having clearly been trying to restart her heart for some time, but now having decided that there is no point continuing.

The room turns black.

* * *

In the padded cell, Jim is kneeling up and he talks conversationally as the monitor's flatline tone can still be heard.

At this point, Mona Doherty is deceased.

"But I can't let you die." He looks down at her still form.

"I can't, can I?" He lets out a huff, his cheeks puffing. "Because there's still so much you don't know yet." His voice drops to a murmur. "You know that, don't you?" Her eyes abruptly open wide. "Something about yourself."

Jim's eyes widen as the lights around the room flash repeatedly, grinning. She grunts.

"Something that frightens others. Something deep, and dark, in the corners of your mind, in the embers of your burning heart."

Groaning, Ramona slams her hand onto the floor of the cell and then forces herself onto one elbow. She raises her other arm, pushes herself up.

She hauls herself to the feet, then staggers and slumps back against the wall.

"Was it something I said?" He laughs. Grunting with the effort, Sherlock pushes himself off the wall, turns to the door beside her and begins to walk towards it.

"Mona, you're a sinner." He laughs, as she opens the door, and looks over her shoulder. "And you know it."

Her eyes widen, and she slams the steel door behind her shut in terror, locking away the dark side.

She stumbles forward, making her way to the bottom of the stairs.

"You made a promise, Ramona." She looks up the staircase, and sees Sherlock on the top floor, studying her from above, an all black suit that seemed to take in no light.

"Are you really going to take it back?"

Ramona takes hold of the bannister at the bottom of the stairs. She can hear the flatline in her mind like static on television, constantly reminding her of her own death.

Grimacing in agony, she begins to haul her heavy body up the stairs with elephantine effort.

In the operating room the monitor gives a single blip.

The index finger of her left hand twitches slightly.

Ramona continues her painful ascent up the stairs, leaning heavily on the bannisters or bracing herself against the wall. She shouts out at the torture of fighting her own fate.

"Only _you _can choose who you are."

The line on the heart monitor blips and shows its first spike.

One of the surgeons slowly turns his head to look towards the monitor, and the lights in the operating theatre come on again.

Her face contorts in agony yet again, letting out a laboured pant, Ramona slumps against the wall.

"So tell me,"

On the operating table, Ramona's left index finger lifts off the cover on which her hand is lying. The surgeon's eyes widen, and all the staff in the room hurry back to the table.

She continues her climb, her right hand braced on the bannister and the left dragging across the wall.

The fingers of her left hand momentarily slide across the wallpaper of the living room in Baker Street. Now almost crawling, she reaches up and grabs the railings of the bannister as she drags herself upwards.

One of the surgeons looks across to another as if he can't believe what he is seeing.

She continues up the stairs, with a cry of pain and her face pushed into an expression of utter concentration.

The heart monitor shows another spike and another blip can be heard.

The surgeons looks down to her body again.

Her determined gaze almost manic, she forces her hand upwards to clutch at the bannister and pull herself higher, ascending closer and closer to Sherlock.

The heart monitor spikes and blips.

Suddenly, her mind begins showing her images. Several moments from when Magnussen showed them the edge of the papers in his jacket pocket in the living room; then a barrel of a gun; the frightened look on Mary's face as Ramona gives the order to murder her; and finally, the black front door to 221B Baker Street. Her inner vision closes in on the door and sets its goal.

"Who exactly are you?" Sherlock's voice echoes around her.

In the operating room, her eyelids begin to lift as the heart monitor's blips become more regular. The surgeon looks down at her.

And Mona Doherty opens her eyes.

* * *

**Don't worry, this was NOT the plot twist**

**I hope everyone's enjoying this :) **

**Thank you for reading and reviews always speed the process of updating up! **


	47. Pressure

**Pressure - The 1975**

**I own zilch apart from my ocs!**

* * *

Ramona opens her eyes hazily, to the heavy aroma of blossoms infecting her. She gazes around, heavily drugged, and sees that the room is overflowing with just that- flowers.

Suddenly, the door opens, and the nose sounds heavy to her as it's shut lightly.

Her eyes lazily roll down to the door, the oxygen tubes up her nostrils starting to feel uncomfortable.

"They're not all from me." Magnussen's amused voice would of made her scream, if she was not unable to move.

"The lilies are from Scotland Yard." He strolls around the room, and stops at a table at the bottom of her bed.

"And the single rose is from W." _W. The Woman? _She looked down. The W was in the bottom right corner of a card that was in a business-card like shape, with something that resembled her Irene Adler's wallpaper in the top right corner, and the font was from that of her website.

"And the black wreath? C block Pentonville. I'm not sure the intent was entirely kindly." He walks over, hands in his pockets, and sits at the seat next to the bed, a predatory, stomach turning aura radiating from The Shark.

Ramona feels something sodden on her hand and looks down. His finger is running over her palm, down her fingers. She wants to fall unconscious again, so that she doesn't have to face him.

"Oh how I covet your hands, Miss Doherty." He takes her wrist and pulls her basically lifeless arm up closer to him. "Though since you've survived, I suppose you get to keep them."

Magnussen gently takes the heart monitor off her index finger, and she stares blankly at the ceiling. He runs his fingertips over the soft skin of her hand, feeling utterly revolting.

"The musician's hands." He leans closer, thoroughly inspecting her skin. "An artist's... A warrior's..." He kisses her hand passionately. She slowly looks over in shock, and he looks up at her, meeting her distorting gaze thoroughly, but she's too tired to show any emotion.

"A woman's." He drops her hand from his fingertips, and it falls lifelessly back to the bed, bouncing slightly.

"Apologies for the dampness of my touch, you'll get used to it." Her gut twisted with dread.

"Having shot you, the woman you know as Mary Watson left without killing me, which is odd, because that was the reason she came." He holds up her hand slightly, and slides the heart rate monitor back onto her finger, gently setting it back down.

He gets up and leans over to her face, closer than ever before. Her breathing becomes heavier and laboured, more in anger than fright.

"I didn't pass on her identity to the police. Information like that is just too..." He leans down closer and their noses almost touch, and she would of flinched away from his warm breath had she been able eyes are now brought to clarity and awake, staring up at him in an untold fury. "Valuable to give away."

"Wouldn't you agree?" Ramona's eyes flicker closed, exhausted from only minutes of consciousness.

He smiles, and straightens up again, before walking out of the hospital room serenely.

* * *

It was days later, and Ramona finally came back around. She looked around, lifting her bed with the remote, before deciding she felt sleepy again. Closing her eyes, and almost falling asleep in ten minutes, the door opens, jolting her back into an aware state.

She can hear sound of newspapers sliding and falling next to each other, before a brisk voice.

"I'm buying a cottage." _Janine._ She almost opens her eyes, but decides to listen in instead. "I made a lot of money out of you, Mister." She drops the final newspaper, and sighs. "Nothing hits the spot like revenge for profits."

"You didn't give these stories to Magnussen, did you?" Sherlock's unmistakable tired baritone, coming from the couch to her right. She opened her eyes a for a millisecond, and saw that he's laying across it, looking up at Janine, who's sat by his feet. She shut her eyes again, and tried to maintain her calm heartbeat and breathing.

" God, no- one of his rivals. He was spittin'!" Sherlock grins and grunts a little, pulling himself up so that he was sat against the arm of the sofa.

"Sherlock Holmes, you are a back-stabbing, heartless, manipulative bastard." Ramona wrestled with a smirk.

"And you- as it turns out- are a grasping, opportunistic, publicity-hungry tabloid whore."

"So we're good, then!" She exclaims cheerfully.

"Yeah, of course." He pauses, presumably smiling. "Where's the cottage?"

"Sussex Downs."

"Hmm, nice."

"It's gorgeous. There's beehives, but I'm getting rid of those." Sherlock pushes himself higher on the couch. "Dream come true for you, this place. They actually attach the drugs to you!" Ramona feels the embers of anger rise in her empty stomach.

"Not good for working."

"You won't be working for a while, Sherl." She hears Sherlock sigh softly. "You lied to me. You lied and lied." Her tone was gentle and slightly sad.

"I exploited the fact of our connection."

"When?!"

"Hmm?"

"Just once would have been nice." Ramona struggles not to grin with happiness, her chest swelling with something that can only be described as pride, which made no sense.

"Oh." There's a pause. "I was waiting until we got married." _The flower is still intact, repeat, the flower is still intact! Alright, that was weird, I'll admit._

"That was never gonna happen!" There's another pause, presumably in which he's looking away. She sighs and gets up.

"Got to go." She walks over and kisses him on the forehead, then gently wipes her lipstick from his skin with her thumb.

"I'm not supposed to keep you talking, in case it wake sleeping beauty." She reaches down to get her handbag. "And also I have an interview with The One Show and I haven't made it up yet." Sherlock sighs yet again.

"Just one thing. You shouldn't have lied to me. I know what kind of man you are... But we could have been friends." She turns the door handle. "I'll give your love to John and Mary."

She goes out, closing the door behind her. Sherlock looks towards the door thoughtfully, then looks upwards for a moment. He steeples his fingers, and lies back on the couch.

"Are you going to open your eyes at any point, Ramona?" She grins, found out, and starts laughing.

"That- was one of the best things I have ever witnessed."

"You don't get out enough." He remarks.

"I'm too busy getting shot at." His lips quirk up into a smirk, and he looks over at her, now serious.

"How are you?" She thinks for a second.

"Fine, apart from the fact that I can't feel my legs." His eyes widen and his hands drop.

"What?!" She grins mischievously.

"So easy to wind up." He sighs softly, biting back a smile, and then becoming serious.

"Who was it, Ramona?" Her eyes widen.

"What?" She pretends to look confused. "Oh, uh," She puts on a concentrating face. Holding her breath, and putting her fingers to her temple. Ramona screws her eyes shut, and spends a few seconds like this, before letting out an annoyed noise and tearing her hand away, making her wince in pain. "I can't remember." He narrows his eyes, and then looks away, beginning to read one of the papers, as she lowers the dosage of her morphine significantly.

She realises that while she had lied, her heartbeat had not sped up in the slightest. There was only one kind of person that could cheat a lie detector test without even trying, and as much as she fought it, she was one of those people.

"Go back to sleep, then-" He say, keeping his eyes forward and on the small black printed words, scoffing slightly as he read the completely fictional article about himself. "You're supposed to rest or something." She swallows, having quite literally gotten away with murder.

"Or something." She muttered to herself. "Sherlock, how long have I been out?" Ramona observes that he's in the same clothes since the night she got shot.

He intakes a breath sharply, and checks his watch.

"Fifty three hours, twenty six minutes and forty seven seconds."

She nods, looking back up at the ceiling, and there was twenty minutes of quiet, in which the only thing she could hear was the heart rate monitor, the occasional scoff from Sherlock reading the articles, and the muffled sounds of the hospital.

"Sherlock?" He doesn't look away from the newspaper as she breaks the silence.

"Yes?" Ramona forgets everything she was going to say, and for a rare moment, she has nothing to give to a conversation.

"Uh... Um," She racks her brain for something to say, not wanting to look like an idiot. "Did you, er..."

"Forgotten what you were going to say?"

"Yep." A smile appears on the handsome profile of his face, and her heart jumps and speeds up.

This, of course, is visible to Sherlock, as the heart rate monitor never lies. He turns slowly to her, a creased brow and narrow eyes. At this, her heart uncontrollably speeds up with nerves, palms beginning to sweat. _It's over. Sayonara. I'm dead. I'm dead meat. One deduction, and my life is- _

"Are you feeling alright?" He looks up to the monitor in confusion, and she blesses Sherlock's surprising amount of innocence when it came to her.

"A-actually, I'm a bit..." She puts it on, hoping to cover up her very telling tracks. He gets up, and makes the one step towards her between the couch and the hospital bed. Ramona gazes up at him, eyes wide, as he leans into her face, searching her eyes for a sign of any sort of illness.

Her heart rate increases, and her cheeks begin to burn in embarrassment.

Sherlock puts a hand to her forehead, and is surprised by the heat, which is only from the proximity, of course.

The blips become harder and faster, and at that moment she wants to shrivel up and let the ground swallow her. He frowns in confusion.

"What is it?" _How are you so clueless?! Aren't you supposed to be a genius detective?! Do your job!_

"I'm not sure." She lies, knowing exactly what the problem was.

_The problem: The cool smell of mint in Sherlock's breath I get hints of whenever he speaks, his cool hand against my forehead, his eyes looking into mine with so much intensity that it reduces me to a giddy schoolgirl, and finally, his sheer closeness. _

The adrenaline was making her feel light-headed from the weakness of her body, but that really was the least of her worries.

Suddenly, he pulled back the duvet, and looked for something. Sherlock seemed to catch sight of it, and to her horror, she felt his hand graze her outer upper thigh as he pressed her morphine remote, upping the dosage which she had basically cut off.

At this point, it sounded like she was having a heart attack.

Suddenly, a nurse bursts into the room, and they both freeze.

"Is there something-" Her voice cuts off, and her eyes widen, looking between the two, and she realised what it looked like. "Your heart rate set off an alarm." _It set off an alarm?! What is she, the heartbeat police? Come to take me away because I'm crushing on the one person I shouldn't, or maybe you'd just like to expose me for the fraudulent girl I am? Oh god, I'll never hear the end of this._

Sherlock was leaning over her, his hand- from the nurses perspective- was at her upper thigh, and he had pulled the duvet off her. He obviously caught on to this, and stepped back in slight amusement, bringing the duvet back up to around her shoulders.

"There is certainly no fraternizing allowed in the hospital, and I will have you thrown out if you don't behave yourself!" She directed this at Sherlock, who was biting back a smirk, nodding in a mocking sort of way that only Ramona could see.

"I understand. Terribly sorry." The nurse left them with a 'Hmph!', and they exchanged a brief look in silence, before bursting out into laughter, as he sat back down on the couch with a grin.

* * *

Falling back asleep, in unconscious stupor, she let out a whisper.

"Mary..." Sherlock looks up in confusion. "Morstan... Watson..." His eyes narrowed.

"Liar." His eyes widened, but after a few other nonsensical ramblings, he dismissed it as just that.

* * *

"Does it hurt less the second time around?" Mycroft's voice fills her half there mind, and her eyes flutter open, seeing that Sherlock is gone. She lets out a small laugh, and then grimaces at the pain, raising her morphine levels considerably.

"If only it worked like that." She said, with a fake grin, hiding her pain.

"Yes." He returned the grin with a false smile of his own. "I've come to give you your reward." She frowns.

"Reward?"

"You've certainly earned it." He says, going over to her.

"Do you mean...?" Her voice trails off, as her foggy mind pieces together what he was trying to say. "Uh, thanks, but no thanks." He raises an eyebrow, studying her.

"You really do care for him, don't you?" She looks away.

"Don't go getting any ideas." Ramona hides her feelings from him, although she was probably completely transparent to Mycroft. "He's a friend."

"Mona, caring is not an advantage." His tone is warning.

"Maybe not. But it's saving you a few bob, isn't it?" Mycroft looks thoughtful, his eyes narrowing, and then widening in shock.

"Tell me you don't-"

At this point, Sherlock enters. They both look up, as if caught in something. He frowns and looks between the two.

"Please, don't let me interrupt." He remarks, voice saturated with a mocking tone.

"Oh, do grow up, Sherlock." Mycroft tells him, looking back to Ramona, and making Sherlock visibly bristle.

"Cheers for coming over." She looks around. "And thank you for the flowers, Mycroft." She smiles up at the man, and he looks taken aback for a second.

She glances over to the bouquet in question. It featured pink mini cymbidium orchids and long stemmed roses in pale pink, and luxurious cardboard packaging. If her estimate was correct, she'd price it at around at least one hundred and sixty pounds. _Was guilt or gratitude the reason behind his visit, or was he trying to warn me?_

"Consider me in your debt." He turns to leave, sharing a look with Sherlock, the younger Holmes boy narrowing his eyes.

"Have a good day!" She calls after him, grunting in pain from the effort.

"Get well soon." And with that, he leaves, Sherlock closing the door gently behind him.

"I leave for a minute, and Mycroft finds a way to worm himself inside." He sighs and shakes his head, leaving Ramona to grin weakly.

"Which ones are from you?" She asks, making his brow crease for a second, before turning to her, sitting on the couch under the window into the hospital corridor to her left. "Um, oh, unless you didn't..." Her voice drifts awkwardly into silence, feeling guilty for assuming he had any time to get her anything.

"What? No, it's-" He gestures to a bouqet on the small table to the right of her. She turns her head, and her eyes widen. "Those."

"For god's sake, Sherlock." She almost feels embarrassed, that was, if her heart wasn't secretly singing with happiness.

Two huge stems of white Phalaenopsis orchids were in a long, oval shaped, crackled glass vase, and were teamed with a ridiculous number of deep crimson carnations and large-headed roses in pink and lilac tones.

"Such a bloody drama queen." He looked at her in outrage, and then rolls his eyes.

"Your gratitude warms my heart."

"Three hundred pounds is going just a little overboard, don't you think?"

"Three hundred and forty five." She gasped in horror as he muttered, picking up a newspaper.

"They don't even... They're flowers! They just sit there looking pretty!"

"It appears that that would be the point of them." She leaned back into her soft pillow, pausing. "I'll pay you back when we get home." She could feel the eye roll and the exasperated look without even seeing it.

"Shut up, Ramona." She studies the white of the ceiling. "I'm too relieved to tell you off, but that doesn't mean I'm not angry."

"Oh, there's really no need to thank me for taking a bullet for you, no problem at all, more than welcome." She imitated sarcastically, turning her morphine up and closing her eyes with a quiet sigh. _Was__ that a bit too harsh? Because I'd be angry, too, but that's because I have feelings for him. Besides, weren't the flowers his way of showing appreciation?_

* * *

That evening, Ramona realises she needs to tell John what's happened. Mary had wanted her incapacitated, what would happen if Sherlock found out? She couldn't risk him getting hurt, not now, it would be solely her fault if she didn't do something this minute.

"Sherlock?" She asks. The man raises his head and their gazes lock. "Is there any chance you could get me a magazine or a book or something from the hospital shop? I can feel my brain shrinking from the boredom."

He slowly gets up without a word of complaint, brushing himself off and pulling on his suit jacket, buttoning it up in a swift motion.

"Vogue or... Oh, just get something gossipy and cheap." Sherlock gives her a look. "Please." He quirks a smile.

"Try not to get shot whilst I'm gone." She fakes a smile as he leaves.

"I can't promise anything." The door shuts gently behind him. _If only you knew the truth in that statement. _

She takes a deep breath, closing her eyes at what she was about to do.

Ramona counts slowly to twenty, making sure he was well away, and then, ripped the IV out of her arm quickly and with a cry of pain through gritted teeth, feeling the loss in her vein instantly.

Shaking slightly, she unclasps the heart rate monitor from her index finger. Ramona gets up gently off the bed, wincing as she put a step forward, and with great effort, pushes the window open, the night sky dark and unforgiving, a harsh breeze hitting her and making the curtains rush back. Taking one last look into the flower ridden room, she internally apologizes to Sherlock, and jumped out of the window.

Sherlock returned, and almost dropped what he had in his hands when he felt the cold air, and saw the hospital bed empty.

On the bed, was a small card. He went over to it, and in her scrawled handwriting, were the words 'Claire De La Lune.'

He quickly pulled out his phone and called Mycroft, swallowing the immense pride he had for the sake of her safety.

"Yes?"

"She's gone." His knuckles turned white around the glossy paper of the magazine. "She's run away, Mycroft."

"And you'd like for me to do what with this information?" His voice was almost teasing, exasperated from his little brother's antics.

"You obsessively stalk everyone your on first name basis with. Find her!" He shouts down the phone, going over and pulling his coat on.

"Oh Sherlock, how telling." He hears a tired sigh from down the line, and rolls his eyes, leaving the hospital room and pacing down the stairs.

"She was lying to me."

"A shocking revelation." Sherlock's eyes narrow at the cryptic, sarcastic reply. "She isn't too well versed in the meaning of flowers, is she?" He swallows.

"Sorry?"

"Red carnations-" Sherlock closes his eyes and sighs exasperatedly. "If we're going word for word, wouldn't that be; 'my heart aches for you'?" He grits his teeth, and can almost his disapproving face. "Or perhaps I'm looking too far into it."

"I had no idea." His voice gives nothing away, and he's glad Mycroft couldn't see his face. "I suppose I'll have to be more careful next time."

"Nobody likes a liar, brother mine." Sherlock bites his lip thoughtfully, and suddenly, gasps, his mind quickly connecting the dots.

"Sherlock?"

"Claire De La Lune."

"I'm sorry?"

"She's a liar. She shot Ramona, and now she's going to-" He ends the call mid-sentence, and begins sprinting towards the taxi rank.

**Mycroft**

_Initially, he wanted to be a pirate. Then, it was a detective. And now, he's an idiot. _

The British Government puts down his phone, placing it on the expensive, old oak of the table, resisting the temptation to put his head in his hands, which seemed to be the universal reaction to Sherlock.

A rare moment of reminiscing overtakes him, and Mycroft finds himself thinking back to when he first laid eyes on Ramona, having that self indulgent thought of protecting his brother, remembering it vividly with his photographic memory.

* * *

_"Oh, for god's sake." Mycroft exclaims with an exasperated sigh, currently in a cafe in Leeds after attending a meeting in Scotland. The traffic was congested to a ridiculous amount, and they had gotten out of the car, which was outside in the heat of the road in the middle of a July heat._

_The British government and his assistant were sat at the bar on stools next to the window, getting a good view of outside._

_"Sir?" Anthea's voice from next to him, briefly glancing from her phone. The window of the cafe was opened to let a small breeze in, allowing them to hear onto the bustling street._

_"Sherlock." He had just recieved a text from his parents. "Broken his leg climbing a tree." He wondered how the difference of two siblings could be so small, and yet stretch like an ocean in between them._

_"Climbing a tree?" Anthea asks, incredulously, as Mycroft nods knowingly. "At his age?" _

_"Nineteen seven months ago. And I was hoping he might just grow out of his childish nature." He shakes his head, looking out of the window. "I swear, he needs constant supervision, a bodyguard of some so-" He freezes, seeing a schoolgirl about to die in front of him._

_"Jesus, Ciara!" A double exclaims. _

_A girl is grabbing onto her twin with one hand, and in the other, is holding 'A Brief History Of Time'. Mycroft feels as if this is a pivotal moment, and is intrigued, suddenly happy about the non-moving traffic. _

_"You almost went straight out in front of that motorbike!" The girl let go of her and clicked her fingers in front of her face. "Zone in, would you?" _

_"Shut up Mona, not all of us can read books and walk and talk at the same time, if you haven't noticed." _

_They were both wearing identical uniforms, gold ties with a black crest in the middle, a white blouse tucked into a rolled short black skirt, a black blazer, and white knee socks with black brogues. They both appear around the thirteen or fourteen year mark._

_The girl who had just saved her doppelganger had a light blonde bob with a middle parting, her still chubby face dashed with freckles, and the obvious teenage skin implications and imperfections. Her sister had straight dark hair, that reached to the bottom of her shoulder plates, and a side parting and darker, fewer freckles on relatively clear skin, with a much more striking appearance. It was obvious that the dark haired girl's appearance had already reached maturity at the age she was at now, and the blonde had yet to feel the effects of becoming an adult._

_"Oh, trust me, I've noticed!" The girl named Mona says, wearing a navy blue backpack, as compared to her sisters red patterned one, and Mycroft smiles._

_"If mum catches you reading that, you'll be-" _

_"If I don't read this, my brain'll probably decompose in my skull." _

_"Whatever." _

_"Mum says your guardian angel's asleep half the time." His mouth drops open in the cafe, turning back to Anthea. _

_"Those two girls. Find out who they are." She frowns in confusion, looks from him to the window and then back, before nodding and getting back to her phone. _

_"Come on, let's get something from here. I'm starving." Mona says, closing her book and putting it in her rucksack, then opening the door to the cafe, and the bell rings, passing the location from which he was subtly watching them, admittedly feeling a bit creepy._

_"What a surprise!" Her sister returns, with a grin, as the other looks genuinely hurt. The girl called Mona, the one that he was taking an interest in, was still carrying baby fat from childhood. _

_"Shut up. Let's go halves and share a brownie." Ciara nods in delight. They pay for it, and sit down on stools, luckily, on a tall double table near the eavesdropping man._

_"Are you gonna revise for the maths?" It was strange that the girl with dark hair had an Irish accent, presumably picked up from a parent._

_"Don't need to." Ciara sighs._

_"Why'd you get the photographic memory and not me again?" She seems genuinely downtrodden at her misfortune. _

_"It's easy, if you'd like for me to teach you. I've made this thing- it's like a big storage unit in my head," She was making wild gestures around her blonde bob. "And if I close my eyes," Mycroft's eyes widen. "I can look around it, put things in different rooms, roads and houses, it's like a proper thing." Her eyes brighten and she gets excited, leaning forward in enthusiasm. "It's called the method of Loci, it's been around since Roman times. I can lend you the book, if you want!" Ciara looks at her in disdain. _

_"Yeah... No thanks." Her whole posture falls, and she goes to a deep, disappointed slump, putting a forkful of brownie into her mouth. _

_"I- um... Could you show me something from it?" Her sister seems to be guilty that she's obviously hurt her. _

_"Yeah! I mean- if you want, I suppose. I can give you Pi, if you want." _

_"How many digits can you do?" _

_"Last week my record was five hundred and sixty two in four minutes and three seconds, but I've just been doing it for fun." She looks annoyed at her. _

_"Go on, then." She sighs. _

_Mycroft watches as she closes her eyes, and puts her fingers to her temples, and her words come out at rapid fire._

_"Three point one four one five nine two six five three five eight nine seven nine three two three eight four six two six four three three eight three two seven nine five oh two eight eight four one nine seven one six nine three nine nine three seven five-" _

_"I get it!" She opens her eyes, and looks up in slight surprise. "That was... Kind of cool, I guess." Ciara takes a bit of the brownie. _

_"Cool?" She shrugs. _

_"How do you do it exactly?" Mona grins, either liking the time to show off, or the chance to talk about it on a whole._

_"I've got a lot of rooms, a lot of places that I've been, or just places that I've made for the purpose of the storage. I've got fifty of them, with around fifty numbers of Pi in each." Ciara shakes her head, in slight disbelief and amazement, but mostly it was exasperation. There was silence, as they ate for a while._

_"Have you done the chemistry?" Ciara asks, and Mona scoffs. _

_"Since when do I do homework not on the last night?" _

_"You could help me, you know."_

_"Meaning I could let you copy me." _

_"Sisterly love!" _

_"Oh, go away." Ciara laughs._

* * *

Mycroft brings himself back to the grueling present, hoping that everything was running smoothly with his brother.

**Ramona**

Sherlock had got the message, and caught up to her just as she was about to leave the flat. Together they devised a plan, and were now halfway through said plan, in the fake house of Leinster Gardens.

Mary has stopped about halfway along the corridor.

"How good a shot are you?" Ramona asks, over the phone.

The three- or the unknown four, are all in the facade of a building in Leinster Gardens. A confrontation, and a set up is currently taking place there, unbeknownst to the rest of the world.

Mary reaches inside her coat, pulls out her pistol and cocks it, holding it down by her side.

She looks at the silhouette, in a coat with the collar up. There is also a silhouette of Ramona next to it, the unmistakable shape of a medical drip stand, with a morphine bag hooked onto it.

"How badly do you want to find out?" Ramona sighs sadly.

"If I die here, my body will be found in a building with your face projected on the front of it. Even Scotland Yard could get somewhere with that, and besides," She holds up the phone that she's currently speaking into. "I have my finger on a send button. You shoot me, and my finger leaves it, sending a very informative message to your husband." Mary eyes the shadowed figures at the end of the corridor.

"I want to know how good you are. Go on. Show us. The doctor's wife must be a tiny bit bored by now." Shifting the pistol in her grip, Mary looks down and reaches into her shoulder bag and takes out a fifty pence coin. Balancing it on her thumb and forefinger, she looks up to gauge the height of the ceiling, then flicks the coin high into the air, raises the gun and fires at it precisely. The ejected shell pings off the wall in front of her and she turns and lowers her head to avoid the coin as it falls down to the floor. She turns to look at the shadowed figure.

Behind her a shadow appears on the wall as someone walks through the open front door. The shadow is instantly recognisable as Sherlock, with its messy hair and popped collar, and now he walks towards her.

"May I see?" Mary peers towards the shadowy figure sitting at the end of the corridor, then lowers her head and turns to Sherlock, laughing quietly.

"It's a dummy." She takes the headset from her ear, as Ramona ends the call.

"I suppose it was a fairly obvious trick." Ramona says. The liar walks a few paces forward, puts her foot against the coin and sends it sliding across the floor towards Sherlock. He puts his foot onto it to stop it. He looks at her as she continues her slow walk towards him, then he bends down and picks up the coin.

"And yet, over a distance of six feet, you failed to make a kill shot." He holds the coin up to show the hole shot through it.

Ramona looks like hell. shaky on her feet, sweating and breathing heavily as she listens to the continued talking, wondering how much longer she could take.

"That wasn't a miss." He takes in an angry breath, before exhaling calmly, restrain visible. "I'll take the case."

"What case?"

"Yours." His tone gets angrier. "Why didn't you come to me in the first place?"

"Because John can't ever know that I lied to him. It would break him and I would lose him forever- and, Sherlock, I will never let that happen." He turns as if to walk away. She takes a step towards him, and Ramona feels a pang of understanding, perhaps even guilt. Should she have just let it slide, confront her and not tell John? "Please... Understand. There is nothing in this world that I would not do to stop that happening.

"Sorry." He walks to the fuse box and puts his hand onto one of the switches before looking back towards her. "Not that obvious a trick."

He flicks the switch and all the lights come on. Even though she has not seen it, her face fills with dread as if she's already discovered the ruse. Lowering her eyes and letting out a breath, she turns to look along the corridor to where the figure at the end can now be seen clearly.

Mary gasps. Her husband is sitting in the chair, next to Ramona, who is leaning up against the wall. John's looking back at her with no expression in his eyes. His hair is ruffled to make it look bigger and he's wearing a black jacket with the collar popped. Slowly he stands up and begins to stroke his hair back down.

"Now talk, and sort it out. Do it quickly." John takes hold of his coat and pulls it wide, shaking the collar down before settling it back onto his shoulders. Mary lets out an anguished sigh as he slowly starts to walk towards her and then stops several feet away.

* * *

Mary walks through the door, Sherlock slowly following Ramona up the stairs, his hands hovering behind her, as she braces herself on the banister with her head lowered.

"Mary!" Mrs Hudson exclaims. Mary gives her a small smile and walks towards the fireplace while John stands by the dining table with his hands on his hips. Ramona gets to the doorway, and lets out a shuddering breath of agony. Sherlock looks at her with calculating eyes, having already called an ambulance.

"Oh, Mona! Oh, good gracious, you look terrible."

"Get me some morphine from your kitchen. I've run out." Sherlock orders, not taking his eyes off her, as he reaches out and gently holds her arms, as she leans into him, and he helps her walk over to his chair, and lowers her down into it.

"I don't have any morphine!" Sherlock's head snaps round angrily.

"Then what exactly is the point of you?"

"What's going on?" Ramona laughs and then grimaces at the pain, looking towards the woman.

"Good question, Mrs Hudson." Sherlock presses his lips together in concern, and then crouches in front of her, holding her head up with a finger under her chin, and forcing her to bring her gaze to him.

"Stay still, stay quiet, don't do anything to strain yourself. Okay?" She lets out a ragged breath, and nods. Sherlock gets up and turns around.

"The Watsons are about to have a domestic, and fairly quickly, I hope, because we've got work to do."

"Oh, I have a better question." He paces towards Mary, looking angrily into her face. "Is everyone I've ever met a psychopath?" Sherlock takes a moment.

"Yes." Mary purses her lips in guilt as Ramona reels in the chair. "Good that we've settled that. Anyway, we-"

"Shut up!" Mrs Hudson jumps.

"Oh!"

"And stay shut up, because this is not funny. Not this time."

"I didn't say it was funny." John looks to Mary.

"You. What have I ever done... Hmm? My whole life... To deserve you?" _Oh, that's got to sting._

"Everything."

"Sherlock, I've told you- Shut up."

"Oh, I mean it, seriously. Everything- everything you've ever done is what you did."

"Sherlock, one more word and-"

"A doctor who went to war." Ramona's small voice. Sherlock takes over.

"You're a man who couldn't stay in the suburbs for more than a month without storming a crack den and beating up a junkie. Your best friend is a sociopath who solves crimes as an alternative to getting high." He pauses. "That's me, by the way. Hello." Ramona bites back a smile, despite the fact that her concentration is on not passing out from the intense pain.

"Landlady ran a drug cartel." She adds. Mrs Hudson looks at her.

"It was my husband's cartel. I was just typing."

"And exotic dancing." Sherlock says.

"Sherlock Holmes, if you've been youtubeing..." Ramona snorts in laughter, and then winces heavily.

"John, you are addicted to a certain lifestyle. You're abnormally attracted to dangerous situations and people... So is it truly such a surprise that the woman you've fallen in love with conforms to that pattern?"

"But she wasn't supposed to be like is she like that?"

"Because you chose her."

"Why is everything..." He walks towards the dining table, holding up a questioning hand and shrugging, and Ramona steels herself. "Always... My fault?!" He furiously kicks the small table beside Sherlock's chair across the floor. Mrs Hudson jumps and flails. Even Sherlock jumps a little, as Mary and Ramona remain still.

"Oh, the neighbours!" Mrs Hudson exclaims, hurrying away and presumably back to her flat.

"John, listen. Be calm and answer me. What is she?"

"My lying wife?" John looks across to said wife with a look in his eyes that spells murder.

"No. What is she?"

"And the woman who's carrying my child who has lied to me since the day I met her?"

"No. Not in this flat; not in this room. Right here, right now, what is she?"

"Okay. Your way." This was the angriest she had ever seen the good doctor."Always your way." Sherlock lowers his head and looks away to evaluate Ramona's condition. John turns, clearing his throat, then picks up one of the dining chairs and puts it down facing the two armchairs and the fireplace. He looks at Mary. "Sit."

"Why?"

"Because that's where they sit. The people who come in here with their stories. Th-the clients- that's all you are now, Mary. You're a client. This is where you sit and talk... And this is where we sit and listen, then we decide if we want you or not."

After a moment, Sherlock walks forward and crosses the room, standing in front of the fireplace. Mary looks across to John, who has slumped back into his chair and is not meeting her eyes, then she slowly walks in between them and turns round to sit down on the dining chair, putting her shoulder bag onto the floor beside her. She adjusts the coat around her, dusts off the tops of her legs, tugs the lower part of her trousers down a little on both legs, then turns her head to John as he looks back at her.

"'A.G.R.A.' What's that?" Sherlock asks, zooming in on the pen drive.

Ramona grimaces, struggling not to start writhing, feeling the wound tearing itself apart, the last stitches breaking, and blood being internally in the wrong places.

"Er... My initials. Everything about who I was is on there." She looks directly at John. "If you love me, don't read it in front of me."

"Why?"

"Because you won't love me when you've finished..." Something jumps in Ramona's chest, and sympathy floods her. "And I don't want to see that happen." She looks down. With a loud sigh John snatches the drive from the table and then shoves the drive into his left trouser pocket. Sniffing, John pulls himself into a higher sitting position on his chair. Mary looks across to Sherlock and Ramona.

"How much d'you know already?"

"By your skill set, you are- or were- an intelligence agent. Your accent is currently English but I suspect you are not. You're on the run from something; you've used your skills to disappear... Magnussen knows your secret, which is why you were going to kill him; and I assume you befriended Janine..." _Magnussen knows your secret._ Ramona grunts in pain and anguish. "In order to get close to him."

"Oh- you can talk!" Ramona flinches as Sherlock smiles.

"Ohhh. Look at you two. You should have got married." Sherlock blinks a couple of times, and Ramona feels her stomach twisting.

"The stuff Magnussen has on me, I would go to prison for the rest of my life."

"So you were just gonna kill him."

"People like Magnussen should be killed. That's why there are people like me." Mary's gaze drifts towards her, and they share a secretive look, before Ramona looks away in guilt, the guilt that she was agreeing with her.

"Perfect! So that's what you were? An assassin? How could I not see that?"

"You did see that... And you married me. Because he's right. It's what you like."

"So... Mary..." Ramona begins, grimacing and not being able to finish.

"Any documents that Magnussen has concerning yourself, you want extracted and returned."

"Why would you help me?"

"Because... you saved her life."

"Sor-sorry, what?"

"When I came across you and Magnussen..." Ramona begins. She takes a couple of noisy, strained breaths, bracing her hands on the arms of his chair, clawing into the leather. "You had a problem."

"More specifically, you had a witness." He finishes.

"The solution..." She took in a steadying breath. "Kill us both and go."

"However, sentiment got the better of you. One precisely calculated shot to incapacitate her- in the hope that it would bide you more time to negotiate her silence. Of course, you couldn't shoot Magnussen. On the night that we broke into the building, your own husband would become a suspect, so..."

"You calculated... That Magnussen... Would use the fact of your involvement rather than sharing the information with the police... As is his M.O."

"And then you left the way you came. Have we missed anything?"

"How did she save her life?" John asks.

"She phoned the ambulance." Sherlock answers for her.

"I phoned the ambulance."

"She phoned first. We couldn't get in for another five minutes. Left to us..." His face looks troubled. "She would have died. The average arrival time for a London ambulance is..."

Sherlock lifts his left hand and looks at his watch as the clatter of feet can be heard on the stairs. Two paramedics run into the room.

"Did somebody call an ambulance?"

"Eight..." Ramona, breathing heavily, stumbles up out of Sherlock's chair and takes a few steps forwards towards the pair of perplexed paramedics.

"Did you bring any morphine? I asked on the phone." Sherlock says.

"We were told there was a shooting."

"Last week."

"She's bleeding internally."

"My pulse is..." She reels and sways about. "Restart my heart..." Ramona's knees buckle underneath her, falling hard onto knees with a jolt, hair falling in front of her face. Everyone rushes over.

"Come on, Ramona. Come on." John's voice, as her vision drifts. She looks up in confusion as Sherlock drops to his knees next to her, holding her face, and her eyes roll up into the back of her head.

"Stay with me. Mona!" Sherlock's loud voice brings her vision back into focus.

"Magnussen..." Her eyes threaten to reel back into her head. "He'll ruin everything. Trust Mary." John frowned in confusion. "Someones's coming, he's coming to-" She cries out in a twist of pain in her chest and her features contort, starting to reach the ground as Sherlock gently lowers her to the floor.

"Alright, take her." John says to the paramedics, As Ramona lets out a scream of pure agony on her hands and knees, body becoming rigid with pain, and in instinct she reaches out and tries to grab for Sherlock in a state of sheer panic and confusion, shaking the detective, as he knew he couldn't do anything about it.

"Now!" He orders, as Ramona groans and whimpers, her pain tolerance had never been high. John straightens and looks down in concern as one of the paramedics gets out an oxygen mask. While they continue working, John looks across to Mary, breathing heavily and with his teeth slightly bared in fury, Sherlock mirroring the look, although a great deal more viciously terrifying and feral.

* * *

**Why are there like three synonyms for pain?! The amount of times I realised I'd written 'agony and pain' and occasionally 'torture' made me re-edit so many times! Come on English language, this is a primary emotion here!**

**Were the time jumps okay? I'm thinking about going back and editing some of the first chapters, which now that I re-read them, leave me baffled as to how anyone could stomach them, or maybe that's just me**

**Thank you for reading my story :) And if you review, you have a guarantee that you've made my day, have all my love and gratitude! **


	48. Clarity

**Clarity - Zedd**

**I own nothing apart from my oc! **

* * *

Her eyes open heavily, blinking a couple of times, her head reeling from the events that had happened, as her mind began to reboot, loading from zero to one hundred percent in a matter of seconds. Ramona looked around, and almost rolled her eyes.

"Is this really necessary?"

"Yes." Sherlock replies, sat on the couch and skimming over a newspaper,

Ramona looked to her right hand, which was handcuffed to the side of the hospital bed. It was in the early stages of a serious case of pins and needles, and she was already losing feeling to it, the heart monitor clipped onto the index finger of the cuffed hand.

"Come on, this is a bit over the top, even for you." Sherlock looks to her, blinking twice.

"Even for me?" He reiterates, making her huff and push her head into the pillow.

"I'll tell you the password to my phone."

His eyes narrow and he looks at her for a moment, as if persuaded, before the vice of stern Sherlock was clamped back around his expression, looking back to the paper.

"No."

"I won't smoke for a..." She decided she could definitely not keep the promise she was about to make, and stopped there. "Please, Sherlock, just take me home!"

"One more word and you'll lose control over your three remaining limbs." He states, turning the page of the newspaper casually.

At this slightly suggestive sentence, there's a slightly longer gap between the blips on the heart monitor, indicating her heart had skipped a beat.

"Would someone take that stupid, faulty thing off my_ bloody _finger!" She cries in frustration, to be met with silence, that would have been awkward, if it wasn't Sherlock.

Ramona had come to twelve hours after her wounds had reopened, and it was now a day later, around midday.

"For god's sake." She mutters, going stir crazy in the bland room. "I've only been shot. They're acting like I've been-" She stops for a second. "Like I've- Like I've been..."

"Can't think of anything worse?"

"Nope." She admits, and his mouth quirks into a smile.

Ramona could tell he was secretly as frustrated as she was, although it wasn't like he'd ever admit it.

With her free left hand, she took her laptop from her bedside table, and places it on her lap, opening it, and it quickly whizzes to life.

On the screen were the rotating blueprints of Appledore.

"So." Ramona sighs. "Blackmail's the new black." She states.

"Mm." He hums in agreement. "Any ideas?" _Oh, I've got a few. _

"We could find some dirt on him. Although, I'm not sure he cares too much about his reputation." She narrows her eyes and shrugs. "Or anything, actually."

"It's not in his glasses, so we can rule out anything electronic."

Sherlock had had an encounter with him whilst she was in hospital, and from his retelling of the tale, it hadn't been too pleasant.

"I've got no idea what to do." _Lie._

Ramona knew exactly what she was going to do. She just needed a backer, and she knew exactly where to find one.

* * *

Finally, she was released from the cell-like white room, having healed quickly, and was now stood in the Diogenes Club, specifically, The British Government's office.

She appeared at the door, wearing all black and a business-like expression.

There was one reason she was doing this, and it was sentiment. The sentiment in particular, was a four letter word, starting with L, ending with E, and a couple of words in between, that would ultimately lead to her demise.

"Take a seat." Mycroft gestures to the chair she was already walking to, and follow his instructions, and sitting down with a grim expression, wincing slightly as she did.

She had a lot of work to do, and it couldn't be done in a cosy hospital bed with a strong smell of disinfectant, and connected to a mind-numbing amount of morphine, although the proposition now seemed comforting.

"You know why I'm here." She says, fiddling slightly with the crisp paper of the white envelope in her hands. "What I want to do."

"Magnussen." He picks up an expensive glass bottle of brandy. "I'm curious to hear your plan of action against the dragon that my brother insists on slaying." Mycroft pours the brown liquid into a brandy glass.

He looks up to her, as if to ask if she wants any. She shakes her head minutely, causing him to lower the bottle, screwing the lid back on.

"Mycroft, what I'm about to propose," He watches her expression calculatingly. "The risk... I don't expect you to be keen on it." He takes a drink from the glass, and then sets it back down, meeting her gaze. It was obvious he was stressed.

"I assure you, anything to get us out of this mess is a risk worth taking." She swallows, steeling herself, and looking up, meeting the Ice Man's gaze.

"I want to kill him." Mycroft's eyes widen.

"You understand that I cannot protect you from-"

"I know." She sighs. "A life sentence, I know." His face reveals nothing, as expected.

"Ramona, I don't expect you to go this far."

"Which is why I'm making a few requests." He pauses, and then nods slowly, as Ramona slides the envelope over the dark wood of his desk slowly, with her index finger.

"I see."

"For my family." She tries to gauge his reaction, feeling almost guilty. "If I'm going to sacrifice myself, I need to know they'll be paid out in full." Ramona tries to put on her facade, to make it seem as if it really wasn't anything big. "I hate to put a number on my life, but a few million should cover it. Wouldn't you agree?"

Mycroft takes the envelope, opening it. His eyebrows rise slightly at the gravity of what she was asking for, but he then blew out air, as if in defeat and acceptance, placing it back on the desk.

He looks back up at her, his expression hints that he know exactly what she thinks of Sherlock, and exactly why she was going to such extreme measures.

"Men like Magnussen shouldn't be alive." She reasons, realising she's quoting Mary. "This is for the personal freedom of everyone in the western world, not just your little brother."

"And what do you imagine should happen to him after you do this?" She pauses, and frowns momentarily, in slight confusion.

"He's Sherlock. I should imagine he'll go on living his life." _Why would anything I do affect Sherlock in the slightest?_

Mycroft sighs, leaning forward and joining his hands in front of him, elbows resting on the desk.

"Just one more thing." She adds, leaning back in the chair, crossing her legs swiftly.

"Yes?"

"Don't send me to prison." He raises a brow, as she studies her rough, long and sharp nails, deciding she needed to book a manicure. "Give me something that'll..." Ramona looks up from her hands, meeting his gaze. "I'd rather die than be locked up for the rest of my life."

"I understand."

"And also- Sherlock needs another one." He looks puzzled for a second.

"Another what?"

"Another one of me. Another human shield, someone to fill my shoes after I'm gone. For god's sake, don't let him die." He tenses his jaw for a second.

"They've got big shoes to fill, that much is certain." She looks at him seriously, almost thanking him for the compliment. "I'll take care of it."

She trusted his good judgement, the way he was always right. Ramona closes her eyes briefly.

"He'll be gone by New Years. Consider it done."

She gets up slowly with a quiet sigh. He mirrors her, Mycroft's eyes judging her silently, trying to read her mind.

"Thank you, Ramona." He holds out a hand for her to shake. "For everything." She's slightly started, but takes his hand, shaking it slowly.

"There's no need to thank me." She looks up at him and his harsh stare. "I'm just doing my job, Mycroft." With this, she turns and walks out, leaving the British Government alone in his office.

* * *

"Sherlock?" She asks, to the warm evening silence of the living room, pointing John's gun at the yellow face on the intricate black and white wallpaper, closing her right eye for a better aim, her tongue sticking out slightly in concentration.

"Yeah?" Sherlock was sat in the kitchen, peering down a microscope.

"One of my friend's doing a post-graduate's degree in philosophy." She shifts the grip of the steel slightly, which was now warming in her hand.

"Thrilling." He remarks, his tone uninterested.

"He's got this essay that he's having a bit of trouble with, and he asked me for help, although I'm having trouble with it myself."

"And you want my opinion." The detective quickly deduces.

"Yeah."

"What is it, then?" She inhales slowly.

"Is it ever good to kill someone?" There's silence, and she fears what he's going to say.

"Personally, I don't think it is."

Her heart drops, and she clenches her jaw.

"Oh?" Her voice comes out a bit too fast. "What if it's self defence?"

"If it's you or them, then human nature dictates that you'll make it them. It's understandable, but by no means does that make it a good thing."

"Would you..." Her eyes were starting to sting, and she sighed. "Doesn't matter."

With this, Ramona holds her breath to stop the shaking of the gun, and pulls the trigger. The bullet speeds through the air, hitting the middle of the yellow circle.

Ramona swallows, slightly afraid at how much of a trick shot she was, before setting it down on the desk, starting to walk towards her room.

"Ramona." She stops, and turns around. Sherlock's stood in the middle of the living room.

"Y-yeah?" Her heart was starting to race, as his eyes locked hers into a fixed gaze, willing her knees not to go any weaker.

"Come here." He says, and out of curiosity, she does as she's told for once.

"What is it?" Ramona is now only two steps away from Sherlock. _Why do I feel like I'm going to be told off? What have I done now? _

The Consulting Detective stares at her, opens his mouth as if to say something, takes a sharp intake of breath, and then closes his mouth.

"Sherlock?"

"I-" His pale eyes look away briefly, and then fix back onto her intensely. "I'm apologising." She frowns momentarily.

"You are, are you?" She almost smiles at his expression. "Could I ask what for, exactly?"

"For what happened when I was ill." Her eyes widen, and she looks away.

"There- there's really no need to say sorry. What's done is done-"

"No, I want to."

"Well I don't you to." She folds her arms defensively. "Believe it or not, it's actually not something I like talking about." She says, with a hint of a smile, trying to make it into a joke.

"Nice defence mechanism, but I actually would like to say sorry."

"Please, Sherlock-" Her voice was starting to shake slightly.

"Before you left, I was going to say-"

"Sherlock-"

"That he's an idiot." Her eyes widen, and she looks up at him, shocked. "And he's missing out."

"Just stop." Her voice was choked and high pitched, her eyes filling.

"No, I wont. Because you don't deserve to feel like that." Her throat felt tight. "I wish you didn't, but I can't... I can't-" He's broken off by Ramona's arms around him, her eyes shut, desperately trying not to cry.

"I forgive you. Now stop talking, you idiot." What she so desperately wanted to say was on the tip of her tongue, making her heart ache with how much she needed to tell him.

Sherlock's startled for a moment, but he slowly returns the hug.

"I could get Mycroft to make him disappear, if you'd like." Ramona lets out a shaky laugh.

"Thanks, but no thanks." She swallows. "It doesn't bother me. I got over it ages ago." He rolls his eyes slightly, with a warm smile.

"Clearly."

"Just go along with it."

To her surprise, Sherlock kisses the top of her head. Her eyes widen and her heart jumps violently, her arms tightening around him, saying what she wanted to in her head a million times over.

Unfortunately, her fate was already sealed. Ramona knew she'd become nothing more than a ghost of a girl in his memory, slowly fading to nothingness as he got older. She'd give her life for him, and then he'd forget about her. That was the deal. That was the harsh truth she couldn't escape. And even if he did return her feelings, it wouldn't matter, because they could never be together. Even if by some stretch of the imagination it was mutual, it could never be anything but a tragedy, and she had to live with not being able to ever tell him.

* * *

That night, Ramona was lying on her bed, staring up in the dark to the ceiling, wondering how it got to this. The sound of Sherlock's violin could be heard, and it was a tune she didn't recognise.

How had she gone from an indifferent teen, cold and only really focused on herself, to someone so... So caring? Since when had she evaporated, and then condensed back into so nice? Who had she been, and more importantly, who was she now?

In the dark, her phone suddenly springs to life on her bedside table, the vibrations causing it to dance across the table. She turns over onto her side and brings it to her face, squinting slightly at the brightness of the screen, and even more so at the unknown number. She accepts the call, and puts it to her ear.

"Hello?" It was almost a whisper, her voice not having been present for a couple of hours.

"Miss Doherty." Her heart dropped.

"Charles."

"I can't remember the last time anyone called me by my first name." Ramona could feel her heart in her throat, wondering if he had somehow found out about her intentions. "I was wondering when we could meet. I'm quite eager to see you again, actually."

She realises how she could play this, and smirks to herself.

"I'm afraid I don't want to meet." There's a moment of silence from Charles Augustus Magnussen, and then a short laugh.

"Oh, I think you do. Or should I invest in another voice recorder?" She screws her eyes shut.

"Fine." She takes a breath. "Christmas day. Your place." He laughs.

"Should be interesting."

"Oh, _very_. I'll make my own way."

"I look forward to it."

With this, the call ends, and Ramona almost grins at the fact that Magnussen had just sentenced himself to death. She puts her phone back onto charge, smiling sadly, shaking her head slightly at just how much he was underestimating her.

* * *

**I know this was a really short chapter I'm so sorry please don't be annoyed! **

**I didn't really know how to write this bit, so it's probably a bit more messy than usual, but the next chapter (which I've already got in the works) will be much longer, and you all know what's coming next, so brace yourself, and also, a pretty big plot twist is coming up, and it's not the obvious thing that's going to happen, in case you haven't already figured it out ;) **

**Thank you so so so so much for reading, Review for quicker updates, and thank you for reviewing if you have! **


	49. Broken Arrow

**Broken Arrow - NGHFB**

**Some lyrics that basically gave me the idea for this story from this song: **

**Leave me in peace I'm all alone with my angel**

**She died in a dream **

**So I can live my life**

**But all the lies that they have told me**

**They make me wanna shiver**

**When I'm lost and I'm lonely **

**But that's not gonna easy my troubled mind **

**A fallen angel **

**With a broken arrow **

**She come for me and ease my troubled mind**

* * *

"Hark, the Herald Angels sing, Glory to the newborn King," A church choir can be heard singing the Christmas carol from the Christmas special episode of 'Songs Of Praise', on the small television on the kitchen counter.

Ramona sits at a dining in the Doherty family home, in the kitchen, as her mother cleans away the last of the plates.

The room had a warm ambiance, and the table was littered with split Christmas crackers, and a gold tissue crown perches upon her platinum hair.

"I really wish you'd told me about this, Ciara." Freydis, her dog, is sat obediently by her side, as she absentmindedly strokes her head.

"I wanted to surprise you!" She's sitting next to her at the dining table, and a toddler is placed next to her, who in Ramona's opinion, asked way too many questions.

A man, an inch shorter than Sherlock, with red hair and a few freckles, grins back across at Ciara, on the other side of Ramona, who's sat at the head of the rectangular wooden table, her back to a window, which displayed large snowflakes ambling gently to the ground, with not a care in the world.

"Surprise is one thing, gaining a brother-in-law and becoming an auntie in one go is another thing." She remarks, looking over her laptop.

The toddler, a small boy, with shaggy dark blond hair and happy large chocolate eyes with adorable chubby cheeks, ran over to her, and jumped onto her lap, looking at the laptop screen placed on the table in front of her.

Ciara and her husband, Benjamin, had adopted him a few months ago, after finding out that Ciara was unable to have children. Admittedly, this fact had scared Ramona, in case it was shared. Although, it wasn't like she was ever going to have the opportunity to have a normal life, so why did it matter?

"Who's that?" He asks, his high pitched, rather cute voice made her smile, ruffling his hair, and looking into the webcam.

"That's Sherlock Holmes." She bounces him happily in her lap, and he lets out a giggle of delight.

"And who might you be?" The digital baritone only fueled her happiness.

Sherlock was sat in his own family's kitchen, wearing his usual suit and a very dark green shirt, presumably the most seasonal spirit that you could extract from the Consulting Detective, on a video call from the other side of the country.

"I'm Paddy Broadcroft!" He exclaims happily, turns over his small shoulder to Ramona, and then back to Sherlock. "Are you auntie Mona's husband?" Each room, in different corners of the country went totally silent, everyone turning to the detectives in question.

"Uh-" Ramona lets out an uneasy laugh. "That's a bit-" Another high pitched laugh.

"Not quite, Paddy." He replied, and Ramona blushed slightly, tensing her jaw in frustration that she couldn't control something as simple as her blood.

"Asking too many questions again, Padster?" Benjamin speaks up in a happy tone.

"No!" He protests, and Ciara laughs. Ramona took a moment, biting her lip.

Ciara genuinely seems happy. She seems whole, complete, and at peace with herself, something Ramona could only dream of. She was jealous of her twin, and certainly not for the first time, and definitely not for the last.

"Oh, dear God, it's only two o'clock. It's been Christmas Day for at least a week now." Mycroft's voice can be heard off screen, making Ramona chuckle, as Sherlock looks over the laptop.

"How can it only be two o'clock? I'm in agony." Ramona leans down into Paddy's ear.

"I think there are some presents left for you outside." His eyes and face light up, and the twins laugh in unison, as he runs out of the room, his parents following him. She watches for a second, almost getting emotional, before turning back to the screen.

Sherlock holds up the front page of The Guardian to the camera, which bears the headline 'Lord Smallwood suicide' and the straplines 'Shamed peer takes own life' and '63-year-old dies following letters scandal'.

"I know, Sherlock, I know." She sighs, as her mum hurries around the kitchen, bobbing around to the extremely christian music and humming along.

"Mikey, is this your laptop?" She hears Sherlock's mother off screen, and lets out a loud laugh at the endearment.

"On which depends the security of the free world, yes..." His tone turn sarcastic. "And you've got potatoes on it." Sherlock glances from the screen up to his brother, as if in warning.

"Well, you shouldn't leave it lying around if it's so important." Sherlock looks to the laptop secretively, in a slightly hushed tone.

"Why aren't you here again?" He asks her.

"Why are we doing this? We never do this." Mycrofts voice can be heard.

"I've got a family of my own, Sherlock." She lies, happily.

"We are here because we are a family and we are all very happy." His mum can be heard.

"I do too." Sherlock says.

"Am I happy too? I haven't checked." Mycroft replies.

"Unfortuanately." He mouths to her, making her crack up.

"Behave, Mike." She walks around the back of Sherlock.

"Mycroft is the name you gave me, if you could possibly struggle all the way to the end."

Bill Wiggins walks over and holds out a glass of punch with pieces of fruit floating in it.

"Mrs 'olmes?" She looks round and takes the glass from him.

"Oh! Thank you, dear. Not absolutely sure why you're here."

"I invited him." Sherlock states.

"I'm his protégé, Mrs 'olmes. When 'e dies, I get all his stuff, an' 'is job." Mrs Holmes looks at him, a little startled.

"I've been replaced?" Ramona says jokingly, crossing her arms, but secretly actually quite irritated.

Paddy appears again, running back in the kitchen.

"I got a bike, auntie Mona!" she turns on her child face and chuckles happily as he jumps up and down in front of her.

"No." Sherlock tells her.

Mona, currently trying to tune into three different conversations, reaches over the laptop to take a mince pie from the middle of the table, to have her hand slapped away quickly.

"Don't be a gannit, Mona!" Her stern mother orders, in a heavy Irish accent. Ramona grinned mischievously, and turns back to the laptop.

"Lovely when you bring your friends round!" Mycroft's sarcasm makes her laugh, as Sherlock's mum makes an appearance behind her.

"Merry Christmas, Mrs Holmes!" She grins, as Sherlock turns around to see his mother looking at the screen, and smiling. Sherlock pulls a slightly embarrassed face.

"Hello dear!" Paddy jumps onto her lap again. "Oh, is that your niece?"

"Yeah." She says happily, putting a hand on the top of the boys head. "Hows things down your end?" She makes an exasperated face, opening her mouth to speak, before Paddy cuts in.

"Can I see your gun holes, Moany?" She looks down incredulously and in awkward shock, and Sherlock doesn't know whether to be amused or uncomfortable.

"Moany?!" He pouts.

"You don't like it?!" Paddy looks as if he's threatening to cry, and she rushes to make him happy again.

"No, er- I was surprised that you could come up with such a good name!" Sherlock watches as the boy's face lights up again, and Ramona realises she's been swindled by a too smart for their own good five year old, her eyes narrowing at the now grinning boy.

"I've raised a family of wind up merchants, I have." Her mum exclaims. "Somebody's hurt one of my girls-" Her usually stern face turns murderous.

"Mum..." Ramona says, with an embarrassed, uneasy laugh.

"I know exactly how you feel, Mrs Doherty." Ramona winces at the Mrs, as their mums start to converse. "Someone put a bullet in my boy's woman..." Sherlock's ears flush bright red, eyes widening, which was definitely the funniest thing she had ever seen.

"Mum!" He sounds like an embarrassed teenager, as his mum grins.

"For the record, I am not-" Ciara enters, looking at her with curious eyes and a raised eyebrow. Ramona swallows and smiles falsely. "Yep!" Everyone in her house looks away.

"Come here Pads, lets watch some Thomas, you're making a nuisance of yourself." Ciara says, and Paddy runs over to her quickly. Ramona closes her eyes in relief, letting out an exhale of exasperation.

"Ah. This was for Mary. I'll be back in a minute." Sherlock, who had folded his hands in front of his mouth, now lowers his left hand and looks at his watch, as Ramona checks her watch too.

_I should set off. _

Ramona looks into the camera earnestly for a second.

"I've gotta go, Sherlock." His mouth parts slightly.

"Where?"

"I'm meeting Hannah." She lied.

"Oh. Have a good Christmas, Mona Doherty." She grins.

"All my love to your family, the Watson's, and- er- The Wig." She laughs lightly, as he grins, chuckling.

"She could give it to me personally if you gave me 'er number." Sherlock glances over to his right.

"I'll leave it you in my will, with my job and possessions." She chuckles at the exchange, as he turns back to her, as she realises he was basically saying 'Over my dead body'. "You're back in London for New year." He says.

"Yep." She says, knowing that she wouldn't. He nods and smiles slightly. "See you then, Sherlock."

"See you later."

"Bye."

"Goodbye."

"Until next time."

"Inabit."

"Laters-"

"For _god's sake_, Sherlock! End the _bloody_ call!" Mycrofts annoyed cry is heard. Ramona chuckles as Sherlock glares over the camera, before sending her a knowing look.

"Merry Christm-" He begins, and she ends the call abruptly, closing her eyes at what she was about to do.

"Merry Christmas, Sherlock Holmes." She whispers, before getting up, shutting the laptop and getting something out of her black duffel bag, and walking over to her mum.

Ramona kisses the small woman's cheek, and she grins.

"I'm so proud of you both, Mona." Ramona's eyes widen, and tears threatening to burst out of her, She pulls her mum into an affectionate hug, before pulling back out again, hands on her shoulders, looking into her eyes.

"I couldn't ask for a better mum. We're the product of the best upbringing you could give us, and I'm just as proud of you for being so strong."

She gestures to what she put on the kitchen counter, and her mum almost faints.

"Mona...!"

"That's for you. Because I love you, and I want you to be safe." On the kitchen counter was a cheque that amassed to seven hundred thousand pounds, addressed to her. "I already paid off your mortgage. That money's for a good retirement, and a downsize, maybe a better kennel."

Her mum looks up at her in disbelief, tears brimming in her still bright eyes.

"You're such a good girl-" Her voice is teary, and Ramona begins to fill up, too.

"Don't cry, cause I will, too." She says, with a shaky laugh. "I love you, mum."

"I love you too, more than anything in God's world." She kisses her mum on the forehead.

"I need to go, I'm on a tight schedule."

Ramona turns and crouches down to the dog, tongue lolling out of her open mouth and panting happily. She grins and gives her one last scratch in the place behind her ear, and turns to go.

On her way out, she passes through a living room, and meets Ciara, on her own, outside the door, about to go out into the snow.

"Your leaving?" She smiles to Ciara, an admittedly rare occurrence.

"Yeah, I've got some places to be." She pauses, looks down, and takes an envelope out of her pocket.

"What's this?" Ciara asks, as she's handed it.

"Merry Christmas." She grins. Opening it, she pulls out paper, and begins to read, her eyes widening and brimming. "You've got a family to look after, don't you?"

"Mona, you bloody idiot..." She smiles at her twin, looking into her own face. Inside the envelope was a cheque for a million pounds, along with car keys, and an admission to a private school.

"You should have everything we never had, Ci-" She's broken off by a tight bear hug.

"I never thought I'd say this again." Ramona's eyes begin to fill, a fist around her heart like a vice. "But I love you." Ramona breaks out into a sob. Why were goodbyes so hard?

"I-" Another sob, and a tear rolls down her face, even though she's grinning. "I love you too."

They pull back, with a sense of the british stiff upper lip, looking away awkwardly, and wiping their face in the same manner. Ramona clears her throat.

"Look after your boys." Ramona opens the door behind her, and they watch Benjamin and Paddy playing in the unbroken snow, with a few other children and parents, laughing loudly. "By god, they're gonna need you."

"How did you do this?" She looks back at her, slight confusion on her identical features.

"Hm? Oh, I had a few favours I called in. Nothing that matters."

"My sister made it in the big city, then." Ramona lets out a shaky laugh.

"Not quite the way I imagined, but..." She mutters to herself, looking down momentarily, and then looking back to her. "Buy a good house, send Paddy to that school, and try not to crash that ridiculously expensive car, yeah?" She nods, concern starting to wash over her doppelgangers face.

"Mona, where are you going?" Ramona sighs, deciding there was no point in lying.

"I'm gonna be out of town for a while... Do some sight seeing, get my life in order."_ Okay, maybe I'm lying._ "You know what I'm like, I'll be fi-"

"I do know what you're like." Her eyes were serious and unwavering. "Don't do anything I wouldn't, okay?" She laughs, and begins walking down to the road, making footprints in the snow, Ciara hurrying after her.

"Car's that one, by the way." She gestures to a luxurious range rover, a brand new model in white.

Ciara lets out an excited scream, and then runs over to it, as Ramona continues walking towards her bike, under a cover to protect it from the snow, pulling it off with a flourish.

"See you later, Ciara."

"Bye, sis."

With this, Ramona revs the engine, and begins her journey to Appledore.

* * *

In a large sitting room where one entire long wall is made of glass and looks out to the grounds, Magnussen lowers his whiskey glass at the sound of footsteps from down a corridor.

Ramona emerges in front of him, dressed in white skinny jeans, a tucked in white silk white blouse and white shoes, with her trademark black leather jacket.

Magnussen nods to the men that had escorted her inside, causing them to turn and leave obediently. The Shark is sat on a curved white leather sofa, and he pats the seat next to him. She simply raises an eyebrow, shifts her weight onto her left leg, and crosses her arms.

"Care for a drink?" He raises his glass of whisky to her, and she shakes her head dismissively.

"Not good for working." Her voice surprisingly gave nothing away of her plans, and he shrugs, before drinking.

Ramona walks over, as confidently as she could muster, and sits a couple of feet away from him on the sofa, sure to keep her distance until the right time.

"So," She leans back, remaining calm, although her mind and pulse were racing. "What sort of blackmail do you want to engage me in?" Her tone was business-like and mature, no hint of her actual personality among her rehearsed lines.

"Blackmail?" He looks amused, setting his glass down. "Oh no, this is ownership." She smirks cruelly, turning to him with her eyes the colour of a deep ocean.

"No one owns me." She tells him, and he laughs slightly.

"That's what makes you so delicious." She almost turns up her nose in disgust, at the thoroughly revolting excuse of a human being. "The ownership of such an exotic creature, one so in demand..." He looks away, his eyes, hidden behind his spectacles, clouded with thought, before looking back to her. "It makes my heart race."

"I'm flattered," She studies her surroundings, subtlety looking for a weapon. The security men were back in the surveillance room, and that gave her around two minutes at least to kill him. At this point, she was picturing strangling him with her bare hands, and to her disgust, it didn't make her feel uneasy. "Really, I am. But I'm no exotic creature, and I'm not in demand."

At this, the sound of helicopter blades chopping the cold air can be heard in the distance. She turns to look, as Magnussen stays still, and confusion floods her. The black helicopter -which has the 'CAM' logo on both of it's side- flies down towards the house,and it land on the lush grass not far from the building. A security man walk towards the helicopter while another stands on the patio outside the house.

Ramona's eyes narrow, and then widen upon seeing the new arrivals.

"No." She gasps. _Have they come to watch me kill him? Place bets? _

Magnussen laughs.

"It appears we've been interrupted."

"Why are they here?" She watches, as Sherlock Holmes and John Watson are led across the grass, by the same two security guards which had escorted her, only moments ago.

He takes a drink from his glass as his men escort Sherlock and John out of a glass lift and into the room. Sherlock's mouth parts in shock at the sight of her, stopping a couple of paces in front of the sofa, while John stands a little way behind and to one side of him, his eyes wide. Magnussen nods to his men and they turn and leave.

"I would offer you a drink but it's very rare and expensive." Ramona frowns and looks at him. The Shark takes a drink, and Sherlock turns, going to sit down on the other side of Magnussen, to his right.

He sighs with a contented sound and slaps his hands down on the white leather either side of him, putting a laptop down between himself and the other man, then crosses his legs and clasps his hands in his lap. He looks across to the other side of the room. Ramona bites her lip uneasily. It would have been easy to murder him, if only Sherlock hadn't come to spectate.

She recognises the laptop instantly, and figures out his plan in seconds. Was he really going to bribe Magnussen with the security of the western world, just for everyone's safety?

"Oh. It _was_ you." Sherlock's tone is calm, and she follows his gaze.

Projected onto a glass wall opposite them, a video is playing of Sherlock and Mary's rescue of John and Ramona from the bonfire. The footage repeats on a continuous loop, and she swallows.

"Yes, of course." John glances over his shoulder and turns back, then does a double-take.

"Very hard to find a pressure point on you, Mr Holmes."

"Mm." John turns and walks towards the wall.

"The drugs thing I never believed for a moment."

"Anyway, you wouldn't care if it was exposed, would you?" Sherlock tilts his head, quirks his mouth and shrugs. "But look how you care about them."

In slow motion, Sherlock drags a limp Ramona from the fire, his face full of dread, fearing the worst. Her heart jumps at his expression.

"Your damsels in distress. In fact... Are those _tears _I see?" John turns around, understandably furious.

"You..." He walks closer. "Put me in a fire... For leverage?"

"Oh, I'd never let you burn, Doctor Watson." He sits up and puts his glass onto the clear glass table in front of him, then looks up at John again. "I had people standing by."

Sherlock looks thoughtful, as Magnussen stands up, and Ramona mirrors him.

"I'm not a murderer... unlike the women in your life." She looks down, and the boys look up at Magnussen with equally grim expressions.

Magnussen walks over towards the wall.

"Let me explain how leverage works, Doctor Watson." Reaching the wall, he puts one finger on it at the side of the projected footage. There's a beep and as he slides his finger across the glass, the footage slides with it and disappears off to the side.

"For those who understand these things, Mona Doherty is the most dangerous woman in country, and Mycroft Holmes is the most powerful man in the country. Well... apart from me." Ramona tightens her jaw. "They both have a mutual pressure point... The junkie detective, Sherlock." He walks back across to the sofa. "And one of Sherlock's pressure points is his best friend, John Watson. John Watson's pressure point is his wife. I own John Watson's wife... " He looks round to Sherlock. "I own Mycroft, and I own Mona." He sits down again. "They're what I'm getting for Christmas."

Even though the laptop is almost within his reach, he holds out his hand towards Sherlock. Without looking round, Sherlock shoves it across the sofa towards him.

"I never agreed to anything concerning her. And It's an exchange, not a gift." He stands up, while Magnussen raises his eyebrows at him. Sherlock walks a few paces forward, then turns round again. He picks up the laptop.

"Forgive me, but..." He holds the laptop to his chest and runs his fingers over the back. "I already seem to have it."

"It's password protected." The shark doesn't look up from the machine, and John and Ramona exchange a look. "In return for the password, you will give me any material in your possession pertaining to the woman I know as Mary Watson."

"Oh, she's bad, that one. So many dead people. You should see what I've seen."

"I don't need to see it.

"You might enjoy it, though." John swallows. "_I _enjoy it."

"Then why don't you show us?" Sherlock interrupts, nonchalantly.

"Show you Appledore?" He puts the laptop onto the sofa beside him, then looks back at Sherlock. "The secret vaults? Is that what you want?"

"I want everything you've got on Mary and Ramona."

Magnussen lets out a short breathy laugh, shaking his head a little, then he lowers his eyes, scratches the back of his head and chuckles for a few seconds. John's mouth twists and he shoots a brief glance towards Sherlock. Eventually The Shark stops sniggering and looks down to the laptop, patting it and grimacing a little, looking to her with a knowing grin.

"I'm not sure you'd like what I've got on your little angel." Sherlock's brow creases momentarily, looking to her for a reaction, and she looks down at the ground, her palms beginning to sweat, her heart racing in fear. "You know, I honestly expected something good."

"Oh, I think you'll find the contents of that laptop-"

"Include a GPS locator. By now, your brother will have noticed the theft, and security services will be converging on this house. Having arrived... They'll find top secret information in my hands... "He reaches forward and picks up his glass from the table. "And have every justification to search my vaults. They will discover further information of this kind and I'll be imprisoned. You will be exonerated, and restored to your smelly little apartment to solve crimes with your saving grace, and Mr and Mrs Psychopath." Sherlock looks to her, even more confused as to why Magnussen was referring to her as these things. "Mycroft has been looking for this opportunity for a long time. He'll be a very, very proud big brother." He takes a final drink, emptying the glass.

"The fact that you know it's going to happen isn't going to stop it." Sherlock replies, as Magnussen puts down the glass.

"Then why am I smiling?" He looks up at them, with the said smile plastered over his face. "Ask me."

"Why are you smiling?" John asks, taking a step towards them.

Ramona calculates the situation, trying to figure out the mistake Sherlock had made.

"Because Sherlock Holmes has made one enormous mistake which will destroy the lives of everyone he loves..." Magnussen looks at her, with a smirk. "And everything he holds dear. Let me show you the Appledore vaults."

Magnussen leads the others across the room and through the open glass doors of a study. He walks across to the wooden doors at the side of the room and then turns back to the others, putting a hand on the doors.

"The entrance to my vaults. This is where I keep you all."

He turns and takes hold of the door handles, then pulls the doors open. Magnussen steps slowly through the doors, and the three share a look of confusion. After a moment he slowly begins to turn around. Inside the doors is nothing more than a small windowless room, painted white and brightly lit. It's no more than a few feet deep and the ceiling is about eight feet high. The only thing in the room is a metal and leather low-backed executive chair. As he slowly continues to turns around, Sherlock's eyes quickly skim around the whiteness, then his eyes go back to Magnussen.

"Okay- so where are the vaults, then?" John asks.

"Vaults? What vaults? There are no vaults beneath this building." He sits down at his chair.

"They're all in here."

"Oh, no." Ramona mutters, realising the catastrophic mistake Sherlock has made. Magnussen leans forward and slowly raises the fingers of his right hand to touch his temple.

"The Appledore vaults are my Mind Palace. You know about Mind Palaces, don't you?" Sherlock swallows slightly, and Ramona shakes her head in disbelief.

"How to store information so you never forget it- by picturing it. I just sit here, I close my eyes..." He does so. "And down I go to my vaults. I can go anywhere inside my vaults... My memories... I'll look at the files on Mrs Watson."

Sherlock closes his eyes and shakes his head a little, his lips pulled back from his teeth. John stares at Magnussen as he raises both hands and flickers his fingers in front of him as if he is working his way through the files inside the imaginary drawer. John clears his throat and looks down with a humourless smile as he seems to start to understand how Magnussen's mind works. Ramona struggles not to laugh at the ridiculous looking man, Still flicking through the files in the drawer, he hums idly to himself while, in his Mind Palace, as he presumably works his way along the files.

"Mmm, ah, This is one of my favourites. Oh, it's so exciting." Sherlock lowers his head with a shocked look on his face while Magnussen chuckles quietly. "All those wet jobs for the CIA. Ooh! She's gone a bit... freelance now. Bad girl. Ah, she is so wicked. I can really see why you like her." In the white room he lifts both hands and turns them over, then opens his eyes and looks at Sherlock. "You see?"

"So there are no documents. You don't actually have anything here."

"Oh, sometimes I send out for something..." He lifts his left hand and looks down at his watch, before catching Ramona's gaze, and holding it menacingly. "If I really need it..." Sherlock looks away a little, closing his eyes briefly. "But mostly I just remember it all."

"I don't understand." John says.

"You should have that on a T-shirt."

"You just remember it all?"

"It's all about knowledge. Everything is. Knowing is owning."

"But if you just know it, then you don't have proof."

"Proof? What would I need proof for? I'm in news, you moron. I don't have to prove it- I just have to print it." Sherlock's gaze is lowered and his expression suggests that he is fully aware of how badly he has miscalculated. Seeing him like this puts her even more at edge, beginning to feel extremely uncomfortable. She was waiting for the right time, but it seemed that there _was _no right time anymore.

She had come here to murder Charles Augustus Magnussen. Nothing more- nothing less. She fully knew the consequences- and accepted them without hesitation. It was for everyone she loved, everyone's safety, and they definitely came before herself.

"Speaking of news, you'll all be heavily featured tomorrow- trying to sell state secrets to me." He tuts disapprovingly, and then looks at his watch again.

"Let's go outside. They'll be here shortly." Ramona's fist tightened.

She was angry, more than angry, she was furious. He walks out of the room and heads towards the glass doors.

"Can't wait to see you arrested." John watches him go, then steps closer to the two.

"Do we have a plan?" She bites her lip, as Sherlock is fixed in place, still looking down towards the floor of the white room, his gaze unfocused. When Sherlock doesn't move, John turns and walks away. Sherlock shuts his eyes, screwing them closed with a look of despair.

"Why are you here, Ramona?" She blinks twice, and looks up to him.

"I could ask you the exact same thing. If you'd just stayed out of it, Sherlock, I could of..." She looks away briefly, gritting her teeth. "But you _had _to show up, didn't you?"

She walks away from him, leaving them both confused. Magnussen walks across the sitting room to a glass door which leads out onto a patio. He goes outside and looks around.

The sky is darkening, the early evening closing in. She walks past John, and does something that makes her heart jump to her throat, mouth drying in anticipation that makes her hate herself. Ramona, shortly followed by John, appear on the patio.

"He's taking his time, isn't he?" Ramona stops besides Magnussen.

"I still don't understand." John says.

"And there's the back of the T-shirt." Ramona would have laughed,if her heart wasn't beating so fast.

"You just know everything about everyone." She begins. "But what's the point to it? Why bother?" Magnussen looks up to the sky, and then to Sherlock, slowly walking towards the patio door, and reaches it, just standing outside the doorway, watching as Magnussen turned his attention to Ramona.

"I enjoy watching people squirm, Mona." She raises an unimpressed eyebrow, although slightly unnerved. "In fact, I've been loving watching you squirm in my grip for a while, now." The men frown in confusion, as Ramona's eyes widen. "Oh, that got a reaction out of you, didn't it?"

"Shut up." She says, her voice not as strong as she'd like it to be. He chuckles.

"All this time, and your spine's still intact." She swallows, and glares at him. "It really is the result of good breeding." He muses.

"Good... I'm sorry?"

"What? Oh, nothing." Her eyes narrow. "Anyway, what was I talking about? Ah, yes, the way you look squirming in discomfort."

"Could we stop with the whole squirming thing, maybe?" She tries to belittle him.

"In fact, I'd like to see it right now." Sherlock's eyes dart up to him. "Come here for a minute." She glances at Sherlock for a second.

Ramona gives him a warning look.

"That is, unless you'd like for me to show your friends something?" Her eyes widen, and her palms begin to sweat. Sherlock's brow creases.

Ramona walks over to the revolting man, who leans down.

"Look how much you care about him, hm?" He smirks. "Or maybe you care more about what he thinks of you."

"Magnussen." She growls.

"I'm taking a bit of a risk here- manipulating you for my own pleasure." His voice is smooth, and dangerous.

"What are you talking about?" She hisses, and he smirks again.

"Wild animals... When they're cornered, they lash out." He takes a breath, and she frowns harder. "Now, can I touch you?" She pulls back, looking mildly horrified, swallowing. "I'd normally flick your face, but you... You're so desirable. You seem to set off a lot of men's instincts, but I suppose that yet again, it's all in the blood."

She narrows her eyes in disgust.

"The day I let you touch me is the day I lose all self respect." Her voice was venomous, and despite the situation, Sherlock felt a swell of brief pride.

"Oh, your resistance just makes it even better. I'm afraid you don't have a choice, however." Her face falls, and she swallows her self respect momentarily.

She takes a step forward and leans her face forward to the man, and he puts a damp hand on her cheek, and Ramona feels bile actually rise in her throat. His breath was too warm, and it made her feel sick as it spreads across her face.

He puts a fingertip in the middle of her forehead, and begins slowly running it down the centre of her face, along her nose. She recoils in horror, and he chuckles.

"Come on, bring your face back here." She grits her teeth, and does as she's told. Sherlock watches, his stomach twisting all the while in rage. Magnussen sighs in content.

"I just adore this." He looks over to Sherlock, who's eyes are dark with pure fury. "I could do it all day." He runs a finger down her nose, and she struggles not to wretch, as his damp fingertip runs over the centre of her lips.

"It works like this, Mona. I know your deepest, darkest secret."

He stops briefly, admiring the disgusted look on her face, and pushes her head back suddenly by her chin, so that all she can see is the dark sky, and the stars that seemed so oblivious to all the pain on the ground.

"I know where to find people that want Mary Watson dead." Sherlock's expression is grim.

Magnussen looks at her neck with desire. Not the kind that you would see between two lovers, the kind you'd see with a hunter, and an endangered animal, loading his rifle.

"I have something that can tear you down. I know how to use it..." His voice turns to a hushed tone, that makes her want to scream and run.

His fingertip runs down the centre of her neck, and stop at her collarbone, at the top of her blouse. He chuckles.

"And this is where it gets interesting." Sherlock bares his teeth in fury.

She suddenly feels hands on her hips, and screws her eyes shut, her heart thrumming like a hummingbird's inside her chest.

"I'll use all of that... And you let me take what I want from you..." John hears Sherlock's teeth audibly grinding behind him.

"Just because I know." His hands begin to move up from her hips to her waist, slowly, disgustingly.

"Come on. For everything and everyone you've ever loved." He leans in. A white out of complete revulsion and shock pangs through her. He gets closer to her pushed back face, and her screwed eyes.

"Sherlock." She squeaks out.

"I'm so sorry." Magnussen looks round at him. "Just... I'm sorry."

"Come on. Look at me." Magnussen looked at Sherlock, with a snide smirk on his face, trying to provoke him, using the easiest way to get an angry reaction out of the detective.

Sherlock's expression was a mix of despair, and a look that implied murder.

"Or perhaps I should do something better." A pang of fear runs through her, as his hands glide to the first button of her blouse. He undoes the button, and at the same time, Sherlock starts to pace towards him.

Suddenly, they're interrupted but the sound of an approaching helicopter. It soars over the roof and at the same time, armed police marksmen run towards the patio. The helicopter drops down to hover some yards away, its spotlight aimed towards the men on the patio, as they are buffeted by the wind from the rotors, Mycroft's voice blares out over a speaker on the helicopter.

**"Mona Doherty, Sherlock Holmes and John Watson. Stand away from that man."** Sherlock looks away as Magnussen steps back from Ramona.

"Here we go, Mr Holmes! "

"To clarify: Appledore only exists in your mind." Sherlock asks.

"They're not real. They never have been." Sherlock nods, and goes to John, as Ramona looks down, reaching to her waistband at the back.

**"Step away."** Magnussen walks forward a couple of steps, waving his hands calmly at the helicopter.

Sherlock's eyes widen, realising what he wanted wasn't there, and he looks to Ramona in terror.

"It's fine! They're harmless!" The armed police continue moving into position, aiming their rifles towards the patio.

**"Target is not armed. I repeat, target is not armed."**

"Sherlock, what do we do?" John shouts.

"Nothing!" Magnussen tells them. "There's nothing to be done! Oh, I'm not a villain. I have no evil plan. I'm a businessman, acquiring assets. You happen to be one of them! Sorry. No chance for you to be a hero this time, Mr Holmes."

**"Stand away from that man. Do it now."** Magnussen turns to her.

"Now, my dear, when can we arrange to pick up from where we left off?" She looks at him in disdain, her true nature starting to show. Ramona's eyes narrow, and she bares her teeth.

"Or, I could do this."

She pulls the gun from her waistband, pointing it out with a straight arm, not shaking in the slightest.

"RAMONA!" Sherlock roars. She turns to him quickly, and points it at him as he begins walking towards her.

"Don't come any closer!" Sherlock freezes, and steps back.

**"Mona Doherty. Lower your weapon this instant!" **Her vision began to blur with tears, as Magnussen smirks at her.

"Sorry, but I don't think you've got the guts." Her mouth parts in shock. "Do you remember the last time you killed someone?" He takes a step forward. "Do you really have what it takes to pull the trigger?"

"I guess we'll have to find out." Magnussens eyes widen slightly, seeing that fire in her eyes. "Anything you've got to say?" She shouts above the helicopter.

**"Do not shoot the target! I repeat, do not shoot the target!**_"_ Mycroft's voice, keeping her safe after all this time. Ramona realises she doesn't care if one of the armed police officers shoots her dead at this exact moment.

She shrugs at his silence, as Magnussen appears terrified.

"It's really nothing personal." Ramona shouts, her voice viciously ripping against the sounds of the helicopter. "_I'm just doing my job!_" Magnussen's face contorts in fear, and Ramona pulls the trigger without a second thought.

The bullet hits him right in between his eyes, and CAM crumples lifelessly to the patio.

Ramona seems to come out of her murderous state, and stares at the gun in her hand, a horrified expression, her face abruptly dropping.

Her left hand shakes, and she takes a step back from the corpse that she had put there. Ramona lets out a sob, only now comprehending what she had done, what it really meant.

But that wasn't the only reason she was so terrified.

The feeling she had got from pointing a gun at him- it was pure joy. She had scared herself, terrified of what she was capable of.

"Ramona!"

Sherlock takes a few steps towards her, and she quickly puts the muzzle of the gun to her temple, eyes steeled.

"Stay there!" Her voice is strangled, heavy with emotion. Sherlock's eyes are wide. "Stay away from me!" She orders, splaying out her other hand in front of him, keeping them away, and pushes the gun harshly into her delicate skin.

Sherlock raises his hands with John in surrender, and she looks at the glaring lights of the helicopter, the cold steel in her hand- and drops to her knees, colliding harshly with the stone of the patio.

She had murdered someone. Ramona had killed another person. What was wrong with her?

Her body was wracked with sobs as she doubled over, hiding her face in her hands and crying hard, shame and self loathing crippling her.

**"Stand fire!" **

The police marksmen run towards the patio, surrounding Ramona and aiming their rifles down at her. She doesn't look up.

**"Do not fire on Mona Doherty! Do not fire!"**

"Oh, Christ, Ramona." Johns voice, full of despair and anguish. She drops the gun.

Her hands go to her head in surrender, and she desperately tries to compose herself, slowly looking up.

And then, she grins.

Everyone's taken aback by the completely insane look on her face, the wide ecstatic smile, paired with desperately sad eyes, and tears streaming down her cheeks.

Ramona began to laugh hysterically, as if she were a lunatic.

Sherlock's mouth fell open, and a pang of terror ran through him.

The fear she was capable of striking into someone- right into their heart, burning it. It had reminded him of something.

He had been wracking his brain for what it was, and now, a single word revolved around her, filling his mind, and infiltrating every thought.

_Moriarty._

* * *

**Yep! I'm so sorry about this haha **

**And also, Ciara is pronounced 'Kee-ra', but if you've been pronouncing it 'see-ar-a' that's fine, too **

**Thank you for reading my story, and all my love if you leave a review! **


	50. Stay With Me

**Stay With Me - Sam Smith**

**I own nothing except my ocs!**

* * *

A jet black Mercedes rolls along the runway towards where an executive jet is stationary on the tarmac.

Standing near the nose of the plane, Ramona, Mycroft and a security man watch the car pull up.

Mary gets out of the rear door nearest the plane and John from the other. Sherlock gets out of the passenger seat in the front, looking completely blank.

Ramona's heart sinks to her feet. She predicted that now, Sherlock definitely did not like her, as anything, never mind in a romantic light, not after seeing her like that.

_That is, unless he has a thing for insane murderers with serious unresolved daddy issues_.

She sighed heavily, and put a hand to the bridge of her nose, pinching hard, screwing her eyes shut.

Everything seemed so surreal. How could anything like that actually have happened?

But it had. _Oh, god, it definitely had. Then again, isn't all of my life the biggest surreal shit-show ever to exist ever in the history of everything?_

She could still feel the recoil from the gun shocking through her, ricocheting into the very bones of her left arm.

However, this was by no means regret. If she hadn't of killed him, then it would be Sherlock standing here, it'd be Sherlock being sent to die, and she'd be left alone again. That, well that was worse than anything she could imagine, and as illogical as it was, she'd rather die than live without him.

_If only I was someone different. If only we'd met in another way._

Sherlock didn't care that much about her- he would forget all about her in a couple of years, she was sure, not having the slightest of recognition when he saw a blonde woman, a pair of twins, or perhaps a leather jacket. These facts reassured her, but god, they certainly didn't bring her comfort in any way shape or form.

She snaps out of it and brings herself out of her useless train of thought, looking up to see Mary, smiling, walking towards her, with John stood besides her.

"Take care of him." She looks down at the tarmac, and then looks her in the eye. "John, I mean."

"Oh..." They hug. Admittedly, getting shot by someone may not be the most conventional method of bonding, but it had definitely worked. "Don't worry. I'll keep him in trouble." Ramona smiles, a hint of sadness she couldn't hide, in the realisation that she would never lay eyes on the Watson baby.

"Good girl." She turns and walks back slightly, as John steps forwards, and she smiles.

"You think I could have a while without the supervision, Mycroft?" He looks startled, but slowly does as she asks.

John sighs as if in physical pain. Ramona clears her throat.

"So... Your baby." She propositions.

"We've had a scan. We're pretty sure it's a girl." She grins softly.

"She's gonna have quite possibly the most exciting parents ever." He smiles in gratitude, but it quickly turns to a painful grimace. She sighs, as if getting down to business, looking away briefly.

"John, something big is coming." He frowns momentarily, and their gazes lock intensely.

"Sorry?"

"I don't know exactly what, but I can feel it." She looks up at the sky, the low swollen asphalt clouds threatening to rain. _Pathetic fallacy at its finest. _"You need to take more precaution. Your thrill seeking habits... When the storm hits, you're gonna want to give them up, before it's too late." He pauses for a second, and then opens his mouth again.

"So what about you, then? Where are you actually going now?"

"Me?" Her tone is nonchalant and easy, in this moment Ramona regrets never pursuing a career in acting. "Just some undercover work, somewhere in the outback of Europe."

"For how long?" She doesn't meet his eyes.

"Six months, Mycroft says."

"And then what?" She shrugs abruptly.

"The world's my oyster, I suppose." Ramona lies casually. John nods, feeling extremely sorry for her.

"So, have you thought about baby names?"

"Actually..." Her hopes rise. "No." She giggles silently, her shoulders shaking.

"I think Coralie and Mona are quite catchy, personally." She winks at him, her enigmatic ways still shining through after all that had happened.

"They're not." Ramona grins.

"Come on, John."

"We're not naming our daughter after you." He says jokingly.

"No need to be harsh."

They chuckle together, and she sighs quietly as it fades into the light breeze, dissipating and slipping through their fingers, as if the brief moment of cheer was never there.

She outstretches a delicate looking hand for him to shake, and his eyes gaze down at it.

"John..." He takes her hand, and uses it to pull her towards him, in a friendly hug that was reguarly called a 'man-hug', patting her back.

Ramona laughs as she's released.

"Look after him. Sherlock, I mean." Her eyes drift to said man, stood with his hands behind his back, surveying the airfield. "Please." He nods dutifully at her suddenly desperate voice, and turns slowly, walking away from her.

Then, Hannah begins to approach her. She swallows, preparing herself, straightening herself out slightly.

"Hi." She says.

"Hello." Ramona replies. There's a twenty second moment of silence, in which Ramona looks around the airfield vaguely, and slightly awkwardly. Her eyes briefly switch to her best friend's face, and sees that her eyes are filled with tears. Shock runs through her, eyes widening.

"Hey! Hey, hey, um, don't do that!" She tried to comfort her in the most English way possible. Hannah smiled and let out a tearful giggle.

"I'm so sorry."

"What for?"

"I knew that it'd turn out like this..." Ramona's brow furrows in sadness. "But I never-" She sniffs deeply and looks away. "I should have told you. I should have told you to run away." Her mouth parts in shock.

"Hannah..." She swallowed. "I wouldn't want it any other way." She looked deeply into her eyes, trying to get her point across. "Understand that this was _my _choice. I had a chance to leave- and I didn't take it." Hannah blinks in slight shock, wiping her nose with her jumper sleeve. "I forgive you."

Her friend takes one look at her, and starts bawling, diving into her shoulder, and making Ramona stumble back a few steps with surprise, as her grip tightens on Ramona's leather jacket.

"You're leaving." The girl looked around, thoroughly shocked, hand clawed into Hannah's back, and another stroking the back of her wild hair.

"It's okay." She tried to sooth her.

"I don't know what I'm going to do." Ramona's eyes widened slightly, and then softened, as she pulled out of the hug, composed.

"You're going to have a good life." She grinned.

"I just wish you could, too." Her false expression falls for a second, before turning it back on.

"Anyway, about Sherlock." She looks back at the detective, who was looking around solemnly. "He takes his coffee black with two sugars, his tea ridiculously sugary to keep him going, and to annoy Mycroft who's watching his weight and can't have too much sugar. Oh, and if you mess up his sock index, he _will_ throw a hissy fit." She laughs. "I feel like I'm leaving you with my cat."

"Same thing." Hannah giggles tearfully, shrugging.

Ramona leans in, and kisses her forehead, wishing she could stay with her forever.

* * *

And finally, it was Sherlock's turn to say goodbye.

He stood in front of her, his face completely void of emotion. The detective's hair was that orderly chaos, falling onto his forehead like always.

His eyes were bloodshot to a ridiculous amount, and it was clear he'd either gotten no sleep, or had been crying. A pang of shock ran down her, realising she couldn't imagine Sherlock in tears over emotions.

"This feels like a really bad version of speed dating." His eyes show a small amount of humour at the remark, before the barely there flame is extinguished as quickly as it appeared.

"How long have you got?" His voice was flat.

"I'm doing six months in Eastern Europe, then I'm-"

"Then you're going somewhere you can't reach on a plane." She bites her lip in shock, and nods slowly. Ramona could feel her eyes start to sting, realising he knew she was going to die.

"Look..." She wanted to tell him. It was selfish, but she needed to see his response.

"I'll meet you at your destination." Her eyes widen. "Either that, or I can just come with you."

"Are you serious?"

"Deadly." She smiles gently, eyes stinging even more as she looked down. "We'll run away together. New identities, new surroundings- it won't exactly be difficult for us." He looked as if he'd thought it through.

For a moment, she thinks about it, perhaps even fantasized. And then, she shakes her head slowly.

"You know I can't do that." He looks away in frustration.

"It was worth a try." She twists her tongue in her mouth. Everything she wanted to say but couldn't weighed down on her chest like an anchor, pulling her under non-existent water, and laterally, drowning her.

"Sherlock Holmes can't be anywhere but London." She states.

He looks around, blowing out air, puffing his cheeks as he did so.

"Well." He begins.

"Well." She replies, in a softer tone.

"Here we are." She smiles, trying to remember everything about his voice.

"Here we are." Ramona doesn't know what to say, so just repeated quietly. His eyes look to hers, trapping her in his grey gaze, however bloodshot. Sherlock takes a sharp intake of the cold air.

"I got you something." Her eyes widen slightly.

"You did?"

"A going-away present." She nods slowly.

"Okay."

Sherlock looks over at everyone else, scanning their faces, as they avert their gazes from them, giving the pair at least a fraction of privacy.

"Will I like it?" He smiled genuinely down at her, hands in his coat pockets.

"Oh, I think you'll love it." She raised her eyebrows at his arrogance, trying to guess what it was.

"Go on then." She grinned, trying to forget the circumstances in which they were talking, trying desperately just to focus on him.

At this, Sherlock's smile fell, and he licked his lips, an emotion she didn't recognise in the detective starting to appear on his features.

"Harder than I expected." She frowned. "Out of the twelve different possible scenarios, I'm not sure which one to choose." Ramona narrowed her eyes.

"I'll pick for you, then." He looked at her with a hesitation she'd never seen. "Er..." She racked her brains for a number. "Number six." She grinned. "Number six." Ramona repeated, happy with herself. "For your birthday."

His eyes widen and he blinks in slight shock, as if he didn't think she knew his birthday.

"Alright... Okay," He nods, almost to himself. "Number six it is, then." He exhales heavily, still nodding slightly, as if readying himself. "Right." He reaches into his pocket.

And then, Sherlock gets down on one knee.

Ramona's mouth falls open, as he produces a crimson ring box, and holds it up in front of him, in a traditional manner, and opens it.

The metaphor of butterflies in her stomach doesn't cover what she feels when she sees this, losing the sensation in her knees momentarily, forgetting just about everything but the moment she was in.

When she sees the ring that she had coveted at the jewelry shop, her vision begins to mist over, her nose burning with the intense urge to cry.

She realises she hasn't been breathing, and draws in a slow lungful of air.

"Sherlock..." Her voice fades off, and she looks up from the ring to his face, seeing that his eyes too, have filled with tears.

"Well?" She lets out a disbelieving tearful laugh.

"W-well what?" He grins perfectly, even though his eyes are filled to the brim with despair.

"You're not going to turn me down in front of everyone, are you?" Her eyes widen to the size of small blue moons.

"Turn you down?"

"I'll never hear the end of it from Mycroft if you do." He tells her, and she feels as if she's been put on a pedestal, half wanting to drag Sherlock to his feet, half wanting to get on her knees with him.

"Sherlock..." She sniffs. "Are- are you-" He almost rolls his eyes.

"Clearly I'm proposing, Ramona. Make a deduction, would you?" She strangles a scream, her legs going so weak that she fears she might actually faint.

_It'd probably be a bit rude, though._

"I- I-" Her words were jumbled.

"Actually, this is getting a bit embarrassing. My brother's going to start laughing, once he recovers from the shock."

"Sherlock, y-you do realise that, uh, we can't actually get married, right?" He shrugs.

"We'll just have to improvise." Sherlock's face becomes slightly more serious. "I'm not _actually _proposing, Ramona." Her heart drops, and she tries not to look disappointed. "You wanted scenario six, that was scenario six."

"Obviously." Ramona agrees.

She watched his face closely, and realises something was wrong. _Is he... Lying?_

"Is it going as expected?" She asks.

"You were a bit more compliant in my head, but the again..."

He pulls the ring from the box in one hand, and gently takes hold her hand from her side with another, looking up at her to gauge for a reaction.

"You never _are _compliant, are you?" She smiles and shakes her head.

"I suppose not." He breaths in, and rolls his shoulders slightly, still holding her hand and the ring, about to place the ring on her finger.

"So," Sherlock gazes up at her, most humour lost from his eyes. "Mona Doherty," The detective swallowed. "Will you marry me?" Her eyes beginning to lose focus slightly.

"I suppose I don't have much choice, do I?" Sherlock sighed in exasperation, giving her a look.

"Just say yes." She grinned through the emotion.

"William Sherlock Scott Holmes," Her expression became more meaningful "Yes."

At this, Sherlock slides the ring onto her index finger, and then looks back up at her.

"You can get back up now." He stands up again, as she looks at the ring on her finger. She supposed she could pretend that they were married, if she wanted.

_Because that's definitely not the most pathetic thing you've ever thought of. _

"That was a first." She looks up in shock at the sound of his voice, laden, heavy and shaking with suppressed emotion. "Well, I say _first_..." They chuckle together.

"Thank you, Sherlock." Her voice is the same, wavering and about to break. "A-and not just for this." His eyes widen. "For everything." She wasn't sure where these words were coming from. "You made my life exciting, but that's just a footnote."

Sherlock isn't sure what to say, a rare occurrence. He had always made the assumption that that was the only reason people were associated with him, the only reason people liked him, because he was dangerous, he was exciting, an escape from their otherwise mind-numbing boring lives.

"You gave me one of the best friendships I've ever had." He wondered if she knew just how good she was with words. "No matter what anyone ever says about you," Sherlock's gaze is piercing, as she spills her heart out to him, for no reason at all. "You're a good man. The best, actually." At this, she blinks, and a tear skips down her cheek, and onto the tarmac at their feet. Sherlock's eyes widen, and he wants to rush to stop her crying.

"That's a _bit_ of an exaggeration-"

"No." His mouth parts. "No, it's not. Certainly not."

She runs a hand through her hair, her fingers raking it back from her face, and she sniffs to compose herself.

"Sherlock, who protected me when I wouldn't protect myself? Who showed concern with no ulterior motive when I did something reckless? Who scolded me for doing dangerous things, who cried when I was in danger? Who made me eat when I wouldn't, who carried me to bed? Who stayed with me in hospital without ever leaving?"

Sherlock lets out a small, choked sob, and looks to his left and down, as if trying to hide his face. A pang runs through her, and she stops talking. _Is he crying? Because of me? _

"Sh-Sherlock...?" When he didn't respond, she took a step closer, trying to catch his eyes. "Are you-"

The detective pulls her into a tight hug, her face pressing against his chest, his head hung over her shoulder, his hair hiding his face from the rest of the world. He closes his eyes.

_He's doing it again. Hiding himself from me so I never see him cry. _

"You're leaving me." His voice is gentle in her ear and she can feel his pleasant breath on the side of her neck, sending electric shocks down her spine, and she struggles not to freeze up. "You're going to die." She's not sure what to say.

"I'll try not to, if you'd like." She tries to make him laugh, but his grip tightens, and she feels his hands dig into her, almost painfully.

"Don't joke about this. Don't you dare." At this, her body shakes out a tortured sob. "It's a bad coping mechanism." She inhales deeply, inhaling the smell of expensive aftershave and old books for the last time, shuddering as she lets the breath out.

"I'm going to miss you." She tells him, letting out a disbelieving laugh. "I'm going to miss you more than anything." Ramona wondered if they could just stay like that forever, and time would freeze, and she wouldn't have to leave.

Sherlock subtly draws in her scent, the smell of green apples from her shampoo and from her breath, the faint essence of cigarette smoke lingering around her, and although it was only a small hint of it, Sherlock's sense of smell was better than most peoples, and he could tell she had been chain smoking, due to the anxiety. To the recovering smoker, it wasn't exactly an unpleasant aroma.

He sighs deeply, having brought himself back to a relatively calm state, and lets her go, both of them wasting no time in making eye contact.

"I'm going to miss you too." She takes a deep breath, and then shakes herself out slightly.

"I don't regret it, y'know."

"Hardly shocking." She laughs, and looks around.

"I mean _meeting _you. I don't regret any of it. If I had my time again-"

"Shut up." Her eyes dart up to his. "Stop speaking about yourself in past tense." She purses her lips at his expression.

"I _am _past tense now, Sherlock." He grits his teeth. "I'm just somebody you used to share the flat with."

"You're not dead yet."

"May as well be."

"Are you _trying_ to make me angry?" She laughs, and pauses, shrugging.

"Comes naturally, after all these years."

The detective smiles sadly.

"Ramona, I don't think I can do this without you." He says, his voice the smallest she had ever heard.

Her face falls.

"What do you..." She realises that she might be leaving him in danger, a danger to himself. Ramona looks down at her shoes.

"What I'm trying to say..." She had to do something to protect him. Even in it meant changing his opinion of her, it was for his own sake. "What I've always been trying to say..."

His voice trails into nothing, cut off by her shoulders shaking.

"Ramona?"

"Oh, Sherlock."

He realises that she's laughing, not crying.

"In the end, are you really _so _gullible?" She looks up at him, and his face is puzzled. "Did you _really _think that we were actually _friends_?" She laughed.

_This is good. This is what I should do. _

"I-I don't understand." She smiles gently.

"Two words, Sherlock:"

_If you want him to be alright, you have to do this. _

"Fooled. You." Her voice comes out in a musical tone, reminding him yet again of that insane deceased Irishman.

Sherlock's expression drops, and his brow furrows in chosen ignorance.

"What?"

"For god's sake, are you really so slow?"

"Stop." His voice is choked, and she hides her true emotions with an expert flair.

"It was all just an _act_, Sherlock."

"Just stop."

"Make a deduction." His desperate eyes search her. "The way we met. It was coincidental, almost_ unbelievable_, wouldn't you say?"

"No." He shakes his head in disbelief.

"Come on, we had the same seats on the same train, and it just so happens I'm moving in in the same building?" Ramona shakes her head. "What do you say about coincidence, again?"

"The universe is rarely so lazy." He looks as if he's piecing something together.

"Exactly." She bites her lip briefly. "Has it really never crossed your mind?"

"Ramona-"

"I've been working for Mycroft all this time, and you haven't even noticed."

"Please, Ramona." She ignores him.

"Getting closer to you, infiltrating your home- your _heart_." His eyes widen. "And you fell for it." She laughs. "It was so _easy_!"

"Are you..."

"It was all for the money, I'll admit to that, too." She admires the ring on her finger nonchalantly. "The truth is, Sherlock Holmes, I despise you."

_I love you._

She can't bring herself to look up at him.

"I'll keep this though. As a souvenir." Ramona studies the glint of the diamond. "The supposedly infallible man, that I singlehandedly brought to his knees."

Ramona thinks about all they could have had. Everything that she could of done, everything that she could of seen, all the people she could of met, all the lives she could have lived and all the conversation she could have had, if only she had more _time, _if only she was someone else_. _

In that moment, she regrets never telling him how she feels, but knows that if she tells him now, it would definitely ruin everything.

"Catch you later, then." With this, she turns and walks away towards the stairs to the plane, leaving him alone on the cement.

Passing Mycroft, her eyes begin to fill with heavy tears. The Ice Man's eyes were wide, realising what she had done.

"For the record, Mycroft..." Her voice trails off, as she stands in front of him, meeting his gaze. "For the record, I'm in love with your little brother."

Her heart sinks even further, as she walks up the stairs, holding her triumphant expression, before dissolving into uncontrollable tears once aboard the plane, hiding her face in her hands.

As the door of the jet closes, The British Government approaches the car his brother would be leaving in, tapping his iconic umbrella upon the ground, waiting for him.

Sherlock walks towards the car, his face a mix of contradicting emotions.

"Sherlock, just what did she sa-"

The Consulting Detective passes him, shooting the most intense glare he had ever given, silencing The Ice Man, before getting into the car, and slamming it shut.

* * *

Several hours later, Ramona arrived in an undisclosed, extremely cold location. It felt anti-climatic.

The ending of her life, she had always envisioned, would probably be short and unexpected, like getting shot or stabbed, but never this. Never something that felt as if she was running.

* * *

***Laughs evilly and then slowly transitions into crying***

**Wondering why our little villain didn't intervene, and the plane didn't turn around? Mwahaha**

**Thanks for reading! I'd love a few reviews, to see if you're liking where it's going, pretty please :)**


	51. My Terracotta Heart

**My Terracotta Heart - Blur**

**I don't own anything apart from my oc!**

**This is my first chapter with a brilliant beta reader, I'm so excited to be working with them oh wow**

**And if you speak Polish and the translations are wrong, please don't be irritated, I'm just a silly monolingual girl!**

**quick TW for drug use, as unfortunately Sherlock is slipping back into bad habits, although nothing too explicit, nothing worse than the actual show.**

* * *

**Two weeks later**

Ramona took a self indulgent drag of a cheap cigarette, a kind only sold in Eastern Europe.

Looking across the white wasteland, she let the smoke exit her lungs, and into the sharply cold air around her.

She was wearing Kevlar jeans, big boots, two thermal tops, two shirts, a jumper, a coat and gloves, yet she could still feel the frost nipping at her, numbing her skin and leaving her extremities with the sensation of needles sticking into them, the only warmth the nine hundred degrees Celsius tip of the cigarette in her left hand.

The girl was leaning forward on a waist-high wooden fence, and hung over her shoulder was a black Kalashnikov AK-47 Assault Rifle, which, she decided, was definitely too dangerous in her hands.

The only thing that stained the peaceful, unbroken thick blanket of snow, were pools of crimson, that had soaked in from where bodies had fallen and then been dragged away, only a few hours ago. _When Mycroft had said this'd be exciting, he certainly wasn't exaggerating._

She sighed as she finished the cigarette, dropping it in the snow and covering it expertly.

"Jak się masz?" _How are you? _Ramona translated the sentence in her mind.

She turned slowly to her right, to see a man approaching her, his boots crunching through the white, the foot part of the shoe disappearing with every step. Ramona turned back to her lookout.

"Dobrze." _I'm good. _The woman replies, her pronunciation flawless. "Chociaż nie czuję moich palców." _Although I don't feel my fingers._

She adds, wanting to make a bit of conversation. Although she wasn't in Poland, this was the commonly spoken language of the cell, because it was the easiest one that they could all speak.

It had only been two weeks, and she was close to finishing the job herself. They'd find her out, and when they did, well, let's just say it wouldn't be one big happy terrorist family anymore. She wanted to make it quick, and as painless as possible, at least.

"Przyzwyczaisz się." _You'll get used to it. _The man replies, turning to look out onto the desolate space in front of them."Paliłaś?" _Were you smoking?_

He asks her, and at that moment, she takes a pack from her pocket, flicking it skywards so that a cigarette emerged.

"Chcesz jedną?" _Do you want one?_

She offers, and he simply shakes his head. She shrugs casually, putting the cardboard rectangle back into her white coat.

"Alpha Trzy, zgłoś się, odbiór." _Alpha three, come in, over._

The man's walky talky springs to life from where it was positioned on his chest, a woman's voice filling the eerie silence. He puts two fingers around it, pressing a button to reply.

"Alpha Trzy, odbiór." _Alpha three, over._

They share a look of apprehensiveness, and she realises that death is calling her from a walky-talky.

"Szybko nadchodzący atak powietrzny ze wschodu, przewidywany czas przybycia (ETA) jedna minuta, odbiór." _There is an attack from the sky rapidly approaching from the east, ETA one minute, over._Ramona's face drops as she translated quickly, her mind beginning to speed up again in the face of danger. "Natychmiast ewakuować żołnierzy, odbiór." _Immediately evacuate troops, over._

The man's mouth drops open, and he suddenly springs into action.

"Natychmiast ewakuować ludzi! Kod czerwony, procedura zero!" _Immediately evacuate people! Code red, procedure zero!_

The man shouts, and people, clad in white camouflage, begin rushing around, gathering everything they could, and running into the underground bomb shelter.

"Szybko!" _Hurry!_

He shouts at her, before joining them in running for cover.

In this panic, she realises something.

Looking over the barrier, at the seemingly peaceful world outside, she knows she could make a break for it. She could _live._

Ramona scans her surroundings, as the last few people scatter underground, rats fleeing a sinking ship. She could hear the roar of a low flying plane approaching, and time seems to freeze as she weighs up her options.

_Definitely die here, or definitely maybe die somewhere else. Yeah, we have a clear winner._

Without a second thought, she launched herself over the fence with her left arm, and began sprinting to the pine trees, into the desolate forest.

But as she heard the whistle of a downward rapidly spiraling bomb, Ramona froze, turning around, and watching, as it collided with the ground with a loud crash.

The girl got a glimpse of rolls of scarlet fire approaching her, before she's thrown back by the force, and everything goes black.

* * *

**Two weeks earlier**

"She couldn't have meant it." Sherlock hears himself say, as his brother follows him into the flat. They had just arrived home from the airfield.

"Meant _what_, Sherlock?" Holmes the younger begins pacing around the living room, as his head snaps to his brother.

"She said that she had been working for you all this time."

Mycroft's face falls, and Sherlock looks at his brother, closely, with a calculative evenness, observing his reaction.

His face displays a sequence of rare emotions: Disbelief, shock, disappointment, and finally, to Sherlock's surprise, guilt.

"Sherlock... I-"

"Tell me she was lying." He paces to his brother, squaring up to him. "Tell me right now."

Mycroft holds his harsh gaze for a second, before looking away in shame.

Sherlock's eyes widen, and his thoughts start to slow.

"No." He shakes his head. "There's no way-"

"Let me show you something." The Consulting Detective could already feel his heart sinking at a rapid speed.

Mycroft places his phone to his ear and begins speaking, and Sherlock walks away, anxious.

Minutes later, Anthea arrives. Sherlock swivels round, to see a small rectangular machine in her hand.

He instantly recognises it as a voice recorder, and The Detective's interest instantly piques.

"Listen to this, Sherlock." His brother hands him the device. "It may just answer all of your questions."

With this, The Ice Man and his assistant leave.

Sherlock is left in the living room, the voice recorder suddenly feeling a lot heavier in his open palms.

Tentatively, he presses play.

* * *

**Two weeks later - Present day**

A knock on the open door causes Sherlock to look up towards the sound, his heavy eyelids barely opening for long enough to make out the figure of his brother, and an umbrella, swinging like a pendulum in his hand.

"Mycroft." He says quietly, looking back up at the ceiling from where he was lying on the sofa.

221B Baker Street was deceased, and there was no better way of putting it.

A lifeless shell of a home. Dark in the lightest hours, and silent on the loudest nights.

"Brother dear." The Ice Man regards a ghost of the man, formerly known as Sherlock Holmes, now known as a part of the living dead.

The older man goes to stand above him.

"Back on the sauce, Sherlock?"

The Consulting Detective rolls his eyes heavily, sighing in exasperation, and turning away, covering his stubble ridden face with his hood, curling his legs slightly, which were clothed in grey jogging bottoms.

"Come to break the news?" He states, mockingly. His voice was slightly raspy and broken from heavy chain smoking.

"A sound deduction." Mycroft's tone gives away nothing, as Sherlock screws his eyes shut.

Sherlock had spent the last two weeks in this state, not once having put on his usual clothes, and only moving from the couch or his bed for extreme necessities, such as food, bathroom breaks and the occasional shower, sometimes a full twenty four hours of aimless violin playing, but mostly, it was cigarettes, alcohol, morphine and cocaine.

"She's dead." Mycroft's words are a knife twisting in his chest in between his third and fourth rib agonisingly, as he grits his teeth in an attempt not to break down yet again.

Sherlock refuses to cry in front of his brother.

"But it's only been two weeks." His voice was quiet and vulnerable.

"I was wrong. That, brother dear, is a rare occurrence." Sherlock refuses to move as he pauses. "Her funeral's on the-"

"Why would _I _go to her funeral?" He curls up into a smaller Sherlock, wishing he would just disappear. "There'll be _people _there."

Mycroft sighs softly at him, realising that he had done more damage than good with his idea of a guardian. It had keeped him from an untimely death, though, hadn't it?

"I'm going."

Sherlock's brow furrowed in confusion, turning back onto his back to meet his brother's ice cool gaze.

"You?" Mycroft rolls his eyes. "_You're... _Going to a funeral?"

"I believe I owe her as much as to pay my respects, Sherlock."

The younger Holmes brother swallows slightly, looking away from his brother, who had larger than usual dark circles hanging from his sea green eyes.

Sherlock shut his eyes gently, grimacing.

"How did she go?" Mycroft pauses, looking at his feet, around the flat, and then back to The Consulting Detective.

Sherlock had felt nothing but dread and a persisting notion of worthlessness in the back of his mind, which had been brought into the spotlight by the news of her death.

But mostly, a numbness that he had never felt before flooded every thought, every emotion, and every atom of his being. He didn't feel like Sherlock Holmes anymore. He didn't feel like a living, breathing person.

"An explosion, it would appear." Sherlock's grimace grew, and he clenched a fist in desperation. "Her body wasn't identifiable. However-"

Sherlock's heart plummets, and shatters into glass-like fragments.

"That'll do, Mycroft."

Silence fills the musty flat, the warm colours contributing to Sherlock's hazy vision, only really being able to focus on the dust floating around him.

"Sherlock, if you are..." He looks up to his brother, a brow raised. "If you are _depressed_..."

"I am not _depressed_."

"Clearly." Sherlock huffs in annoyance at his sarcastic tone.

"Bye-bye, Mycroft." He averts his gaze from the judging eyes placed upon his features.

"The funeral is to be held in London, if you're interested." Sherlock rolls his eyes, as Mycroft begins to leave.

Not for a second had Sherlock actually managed to register that she was going to die, that she had truly gone. How could someone so smart be stupid enough to let themselves die?

"I strongly suggest you attend, brother mine." He got to the door. "It should help with accepting her loss."

With this, the door is gently closed.

Sherlock is frozen in his place for a second.

If it had been an act, if it had truly all been lies, if she really hated him, and was embarrassed just to be associated with him, why did he still feel dead inside? Why was he the most distraught he had ever been, if he had never meant anything to her?

At this, Sherlock takes a lighter and a cigarette from his pocket. He places it in between his lips, and lights the end, taking a unsatisfying, deep drag.

* * *

The funeral was a closed coffin affair.

Crowds of black clad people littered into the London church, until it was full to bursting.

Mycroft, stood respectively on the second row of pews to the left and next to a silent Anthea (who was for once not glued to her phone), surveying the church, searching for his brother.

His heart sank when he couldn't find him, his eyes lowering in disappointment.

The slight chatter dissolves into silence, as the priest walks down the aisle.

Ramona's mother, sister, and brother in law sat in front of Mycroft at the front. He noticed they were already quietly crying.

"Please sit." The priest says, and everyone does as they're told in unison.

Mrs Hudson also sits at the front, holding a handkerchief to her eyes.

"We gather here today to celebrate the life of Mona Doherty, who has now returned to her home with Our God, The Father." Mycroft suppresses a laugh or at least a subtle eye roll.

Suddenly, the heavy wooden doors open with a creak, and footsteps can be heard on the cold stone.

The congregation turn in synchronization, and Mycroft's eyes widen, to see Sherlock, looking better than he had, clean, shaven, and in his usual coat, with his suit and a black shirt.

He scans the room, meeting every face, which slowly turn around to the front again. He goes and stands against the back wall with a few others, as there was no room for him to sit anywhere, in the unsurprisingly overcrowded church.

The funeral passes, and gets to the part in which a distraught and thoroughly broken Ciara goes to stand at the front.

The only noises that could be heard were sobs, wails and sniffs of despair from all different parts of the congregation, echoing around the cold walls of the institution.

Sherlock smiles sadly, knowing just how much Ramona would have hated the religious aspect of the funeral, imagining a few smart quips and remarks that she would whisper to him, and how he would mutter a few back, and how she would stifle down a laugh.

"Losing a twin is like losing a half of yourself."

Sherlock closes his eyes in a grimace of pain, half wondering if he should leave before he started crying in front of half of Scotland Yard.

John watched The Consulting Detective carefully from next to Mary, who squeezed his hand tightly.

"The connection between twins..." She looks down at the paper. "It's a connection of two souls, cemented in the womb and never broken, no matter how far apart you are." She sniffed. "It goes beyond time and space, and it's made of the strongest love you could imagine."

Ciara turns to the dark mahogany of the coffin, as if addressing the corpse inside. A pang runs through Sherlock, as he realises that her body is inside of a box, and that it was his fault.

"S-since I'm the eldest, nine minutes older than you," She sighs tearfully, her voice threatening to break under the strain of emotion. "It's my responsibility to see you off into into your final transition..." Ciara desperately tries to compose herself. "The fact that I couldn't be with you in your final moments breaks my h-eart." Her voice cracks on the last word, simultaneously breaking everyone's heart in the church.

Greg Lestrade quickly pushes a tear off his face and grimaces at the floor, gritting his teeth, as Molly Hooper moves to comfort him, although she too, was in tears.

"You're the strongest, smartest, most beautiful person I have ever met. And I'm not just saying that because we're identical." There are a few short chuckles in the church in response. "You should know... You should know that I'm still holding your hand as I did when we were just babies, and I promise to never let go."

At this, she steps away from the front, and walks back down to her seat, her mother instantly holding her in a tight, comforting embrace.

The official story- or coverup- for her death had been a motorcycle crash, and a bad one at that. This covered the fact that it was closed coffin.

* * *

Sherlock was sat in his chair that night, drinking whisky alone, having changed back into his grieving outfit.

There was a knock at the door that almost made him jump.

It was nine pm, and a cold January evening. It suddenly struck him that his birthday had been and gone last week.

_"Number six." She grinned stunningly. "Number six." Ramona repeated, as if proud of herself, secretly making his heart burn. "For your birthday."_

it was almost six months since she had sprawled across the carpet on the floor, and it was closing into a year since what had happened at John and Mary's wedding.

There was another knock, which took him out of his train of thought.

"Come in."

At this, Ramona walked in, a hood hung over her head.

Sherlock's heart jumped and sprang to his feet, stumbling towards her, placing his hands on her shoulders. He hadn't felt this happy since he could remember, something inside him lifting.

"You're alive!"

"Uh... Sherlock?" An Irish accent. She takes off the hood, to reveal dark hair.

His mouth parts in shock, and he takes a few steps back, his face falling, and his heart physically aching from the amount of disappointment he was facing.

"Ciara." His voice is small.

"I- I'm sorry, I should have thought-"

"No, no." Sherlock disagrees quickly, studying her face, and now realising just how identical they were. If her hair was a different colour, it truly could be Ramona standing in front of him. "Don't be..." He puts fingers to his temples, trying to still his swirling mind. "My mistake. Forgive me."

"I..." She looks around the dirty flat, the intoxicating, offensive odour of serious alcohol, and the almost intolerable stench of thick cigarette smoke, which was visible in the stale air, filling every breath she took.

He moved to clean up a few things, taking a stack of discarded newspapers from John's chair so that she had somewhere to sit.

"Sorry for the mess, um..." She smiled softly in understanding, and his heart plummeted, knowing it was how _she _had smiled.

"It's fine. My house looks exactly the same." Her eyes scan the room. "Although, with a bit less drugs paraphernalia."

His face almost reddens, following her judging gaze, and spotting the used syringe, that had been discarded onto the coffee table, and his black leather belt that had been wrapped around his arm only a few hours ago, now on the table next to it.

"It's for a case." He excuses himself, in the least convincing tone she had ever heard.

"Yeah, alright..." Ciara's crystal eyes almost fill at the sight of the flat, before she takes a breath. "I've come for Mona's stuff."

A pang runs through him at the mention of her name.

"Y- you're going to take her things?" She looked confused at this.

"Yeah. Although, you're welcome to keep something of hers if you want, as a... A souvenir." His eyes widened as she unknowing quoted her deceased sister.

"No. No, it's fine." She nods slowly, still understanding.

"Could you... Take me to her room?" He nods, leading her to exactly where she wanted to go.

Sherlock flicked the light switch on, his eyes flitting over her bedroom, completely untouched, exactly how she left it before she had left for Christmas. He screws his eyes shut briefly in pain, as Ciara walks past him, to the center of the room.

"It's so... _Her_, don't you think?" He shrugs in response, turning to leave her alone.

Why did she have to be working for Mycroft all along? He could have lived with the rejection. He could have lived with the pain of her resentment, he could have lived, knowing she was safe.

But why, why did she have to die?

"It's so pretty." She states, and in that moment, Sherlock realises it sounds exactly like her. He freezes, the expanse of his back still facing her.

"You think so?" His voice came out shaky, and he felt as if he was talking to a ghost. As if he was talking to _her._

"Oh, definitely." He hears Ciara sit on her bed. "But I bet she didn't spend enough time in here to enjoy it properly." His brow furrows in confusion, still not facing the doppelganger.

"I don't follow."

"Well..." She laughed lightly, and Sherlock felt his stomach twist in a mixture of joy and pure torture. "Mona _was _sleeping with you, wasn't she?" She asks rhetorically. Sherlock swallows, remembering the act he had put on once to rescue her.

He hears her get up off the bed, and walk towards the dressing table.

"You did love each other, didn't you?" Another seemingly rhetorical question, and Sherlock screws his eyes shut in pain, not being able to talk to a ghost anymore, and turning towards her.

"Yes." He lies, not wanting to humiliate her in death. "We were going out."

Ciara nods with pursed lips, as she walks towards the wardrobe, and opens it, before taking a laundry bag from her feet, that had presumably been carrying and Sherlock hadn't observed. Since when did he not observe things? He observed _everything, _and to a fault.

"She had such nice taste in clothes." Ciara sighs, taking the first jumper from the wardrobe, and neatly folding it, before putting it in the huge bag. "And she was so gorgeous."

"She-" Sherlock frowned slightly, finding himself reminiscing over a liar. "She had the smallest ankles I've ever seen." His memory flits back to visions of her stood before him. "And the tiniest wrists."

"Delicate hands." Ciara adds, bringing him out of his agonising trance. "But they didn't feel delicate when she hit you." She chuckles, almost to herself, folding another top. "She was one hell of a slugger, that's for sure."

Sherlock finds himself in silence.

"This must be so hard for you." Her voice is quiet, but strong.

"Hm? Oh, I'm fine." She turns to him, studying his face that almost resembled a skeleton from all the food he wasn't eating.

"No, you're not." She turns back around to her work at the wardrobe. "This empty flat... A lost lover, the only one you've ever had..." Sherlock's eyes widen, and despite himself, they start to fill. "You're heartbroken. You're hurting."

"I'm-" His voice was strangled. "I'll be fine." Sherlock tries to gather himself, not wanting to lose what little reserves of self control he had left. "I always am."

He closes his eyes in pain, trying to gather his thoughts, put his defences back up, rebuilding his depleted firewall that stood between him and emotions.

When he opened them, she was right in front of him.

Sherlock steps back in shock, his back hitting her wall.

She regains the lost space, taking another step towards him. Sherlock's eyes were clouded with rare confusion, as she delicately put a hand to the side of his face, stroking the top of his cheek with her thumb.

"Ciara..." He was lost for words.

She leaned closer, as Sherlock didn't move away. Why wasn't he moving away?

Because it was her. It was Ramona he saw when he looked at her, it was Ramona he heard when she spoke.

"We can help each other, Sherlock." He was expressionless.

"What if I don't need any help?" She smiled slightly.

"Even better." She leaned closer to the stunned man.

Their lips were inches apart, and suddenly, he moves sideways, towards the door, away from her.

Her eyes are wide, displaying something that resembled hurt and embarrassment.

"Take her things and go." He says, his voice level, but stern, almost angry.

She swallows and looks away in shame, nodding.

He leaves and goes to his own room, quickly falling asleep.

* * *

And then, a girl wakes up.

At first, her long eyelashes fluttered, revealing orbs of blue, flecked with gold topaz and jade.

She looks around, trying to gather her surroundings.

The girl was lay in a huge four poster bed, the room looked almost regal, with gold and white patterned wallpaper, and a large chandelier hanging in the middle of the room.

Her heavy gaze shifts to her right, and she sees a medical bag hung from a IV stand. Her eyes followed the tube that hung from the clear bag, and saw that it was attached to a pale arm, which turned out to be her own.

The drug that she was being administered was clearly not morphine. It has a gold colour to it, that almost seems to glitter, as the haze slowly lifts over her mind.

She took her other arm, and sloppily heaved it down to where the tube had been inserted into her arm, ripping it out, leaving a strange pain to linger, as if already missing it.

Trying to move, she felt a sudden pain in her face. She frowned and a hand went to her mouth. She quickly recognised that it was a plastic tube inserted into her mouth that was causing the pain.

Suddenly, she started gagging, realising she couldn't breath. There was a tube in her throat that had been providing her with oxygen, that was now suffocating her. Starting to panic illogically, she gripped onto the sheets of the bed.

Her eyes were wide as her hand flailed up to the tube, and forcefully ripped it out of her throat.

She let out a forceful cry of agony, that came out silent. Her throat instantly felt sore and scarred.

Taking a few moments to regain control of her breathing, she calmed herself down.

The girl slowly took the duvet off her body, and got up to her right, painfully slow, to her feet, which were met with a luxurious white rug that made her toes disappear.

Taking the first step forward, she abruptly fell to her hands and knees. Weak wasn't a strong enough words to describe how she felt. Dragging herself to her feet again, she stumbled sideways, her right arm hitting the texture of the wallpaper roughly.

Why couldn't she control her own body?

Suddenly, she hears a laugh from outside the room.

Her eyes brighten slightly at the thought of an explanation, and she gathers all the strength she could muster.

She passed a mirror, and saw that she was dressed in a long white nightie, reaching her ankles.

Opening the door with an elephantine amount of effort, she thrusts herself through the doorway, hitting the wall opposite. She closed her eyes, trying to concentrate, before tentatively beginning to walk down the middle of the hallway.

There were small glossy mahogany tables on the walls every six feet, as she continued to drag her feet across the carpet.

She reached the end of the seemingly never-ending hallway, and opened the door, not knowing what to expect.

The sudden flood of bright white light seemed to almost blind her, and she clawed at her right eye to shield it. She gritted her teeth in pain, looking down at the floor as her sight adjusted.

Looking up again and uncovering her eye, it instantly began to hurt again. She placed her right palm over it, and looked around the room.

It was huge and modern, with white marble floors. It seemed as if it were an upper right corner of a floor of a building, the only external walls- which were complete glass- right in front of her and to her right.

In the far corner of the open plan room was a modern white kitchen, to her immediate right was a living space with leather couches and a huge television, and right in front of her was a long dining table.

She stumbles towards the dining table, and takes a seat at the closest chair at the end.

Her vision begins to focus properly from the ridiculous amount of light, and she looks up and forward.

To her surprise, there is a man sat at the other end of the dining table, eating what looked like breakfast food.

She was sure her expression was gormless.

The man clicked his left finger twice, and a maid appeared from what seemed like nowhere.

They exchanged a few murmurs, and she then rushes off to the kitchen.

"Uh..." She lets out, her voice starting to reach above her whisper, although the condition of her dry throat was audible. "I- um..." She narrows her eyes momentarily.

"Finally, Sleeping Beauty awakens." _Sleeping... Beauty?_

"I..."

"I've got my final player, and now the game can _finally _begin!" She flinches back at the noise, which wasn't even loud.

She was hunched slightly, still covering her eye.

"I'm sorry, but..." He seemed interested in what she had to say, leaning forward encouragingly.

His beady eyes studied her as words fell clumsily from her mouth.

"Who are you?"

His eyes widen slightly, and then, an ecstatic grin plasters across his features.

"And more... More importantly,"

She swallows.

"Who am I?"

* * *

**Dun Dun Dun!**

**Anyone got any guesses as to who it is? Please try to not spoil too much in the reviews though, as it'll probably give it away for people just starting now.**

**Thanks for reading! I love everyone who reviews so much, you don't even realise how much it can make my day :)**


	52. Ghost In The Mirror

**Ghost In The Mirror - Mallory Knox**

**I don't own anything apart from my oc! **

* * *

He stares at her for a second in disbelief, before his face contorts into a wicked smile.

Suddenly, a plate of English breakfast appears in front of her, along with a tall glass of water.

She stares at them both and, for some reason, feels like breaking down. She was so confused, so dazed, and hadn't the slightest idea as to what was going on.

Why was he grinning like that?

"Jim Moriarty. Hi."

She frowns, not recognising the name.

"Jim?" He asks, as if in disbelief that she truly could not remember him. "Jim from-?" He pauses, thinking, before starting in another direction. "Huh. Did I really make such a fleeting impression? Oh. Well, I suppose I can adjust." His expression flickers to hurt for a second.

She frowns harder, wishing she could remember something about him.

"I'm your big brother." Her eyes narrow at the sing-song Irish voice.

"What's my name?" Another slightly unnerving grin that put her on edge appears.

"Mona Moriarty."

She blinks three times, coming to terms with the information she had been given.

"Oh." Mona looks down at the food in front of her. "Okay."

"Nothing coming to you? Nothing at all?"

She shakes her head in slight shame. What kind of accident had she been through that she didn't remember her own brother?

"No. I'm sorry." He grins.

"Don't be silly." Mona bites her lip anxiously.

"How come I don't remember anything?"

"You took a bit of a tumble." She furrows her eyebrows in confusion.

"A- a tumble?"

Her hand still covered her right eye, which could still feel the harsh light piercing it.

"Ooh, yeah." He nods, as if to himself. "You've actually been in a coma for three weeks."

"Three weeks?" Her voice is quiet and disbelieving.

"The drug that kept you alive technically doesn't exist yet, but we'll keep that between me and you." He winks secretively, and then shrugs casually. "And the mad scientist that made it."

"It was gold." She states slowly.

"And it costs double." He replies. "Not that I paid, of course."

She picks up a fork with the hand that wasn't over her eye, stabbing it hesitantly into half of a fried egg, and studying it cautiously.

"It's _the _wonder drug." Jim grins mischievously. "We could build the next Roman Empire on it. But medicine isn't really our specialty."

"The Roman Empire." She repeats cautiously, and suddenly, information floods through her mind at a speed that makes her feel like she's being hit, and she suddenly knows everything about this topic.

Mona mused that her brother had a Julius Caesar-like quality about him; an 'I came, I saw, I conquered' aura about him, that intimidated her without him even trying. Or perhaps he _was _trying.

"Of course, there are a few kinks that they're smoothing out." He studies her. "But you seem fine." She blinks. "Sebastian." He says this as if it's a command.

She turns to look behind her, as a tall man with blonde hair, blue eyes, and the broad shoulders of a sniper walks into the room.

_How do I know he's a sniper from his shoulders? _

"Colonel Sebastian Moran, Mona Moriarty. Mona Moriarty, Colonel Sebastian Moran, formerly of the First Bangalore Pioneers." Sebastian approaches her, as her brother introduces them, supposedly not for the first time, as if she knew him before she had lost her memory.

The man smiles kindly, looking down at her, and holding out his hand for her to shake.

"Mona. It's wonderful to see you fully recovered, although Jim's told me about your memory loss." Mona looks from him to her brother in shock, wondering how they had contacted each other.

"He means he was eavesdropping." Jim explains, with an amused look. "Old habits die hard, eh, Seb?" Sebastian shrugs, with a ghost of a grin.

She realises his hand is still outstretched, and she instinctively puts her right hand out to meet his, before hissing in pain and hitting it back over her eye.

The men in the room share a look.

"As I've said, the drug has a few side effects, as it's still a work in progress." Jim begins. "It can preserve and heal your body in states like a coma, and you had a _nasty _concussion when you were hooked up."

Sebastian Moran gently peels her hand away, and she squints hard from the light.

"Concussions make your pupils-" His mouth parts in shock as he studies her eye. "It'd seem that one eye's still heavily dilated."

He had a deep posh English accent, one that would point to a wealthy background and upbringing.

"Forever?" she asks, her scratched throat still audible in her voice. Sebastian shrugs.

"I'm a marksman, not a doctor." She bites her lip. "You're the first human to ever trial Lazarus, so-"

"The Lazurus Pit." She blurts out, interrupting him.

On further inspection, Sebastian Moran possessed superb leonine features, and she felt that if she could place a picture of some sort of see-through picture of a big cat over his face- like a tiger, perhaps- there would be undeniable similarities. He had a strong face and a light permanent crease between his eyebrows, indicating a stressful life. The colonel was six foot four, and to put it lightly, he wasn't the type of person you'd pick a fight with.

"I'm sorry?" He asks her.

"Like- like in..." It was on the tip of her tongue. "Like in Batman. The Lazurus Pit." He raised a brow, and then continued as if she had never said anything.

"That's the reason it hurts; you can't control how much light is allowed through your right pupil."

"Huh." Moriarty makes a sound from across the table, and they both look to him in unison.

"Jim?"

"Send it out, Tiger." It would seem that this was a nickname for Sebastian. "Daddy's got work to do!" His voice comes out in that same tone, as if halfway in between singing and speaking.

Sebastian nods, almost dutifully, and leaves. Was he some sort of goon, or was he a friend of theirs?

"So what happens now?" She asks, after a few moments of silence, which she spent completely baffled.

"The world's missed me quite a bit." She pulled a confused expression at the vague statement. "I've technically been dead for a few years, you see."

"Dead?"

"In a few hours, the western world will be quaking in its boots." He tells her. "I've been expanding our kingdom for quite a while, and now it's going to have its king and queen back."

"Kingdom?" He grinned happily, as if happy that she had asked.

"In the criminal underworld, I'm Hades, and you're Hera."

If she remembered correctly, this was Greek mythology. Hades and Hera were brother and sister, although, Hera had nothing to do with the afterlife. Hera was married to Zeus, the king of gods.

"And honey, we rule with an iron fist." Jim adds.

Despite her confusion, she pulled her first light smile, and his eyes practically sparkled in dark anticipation.

* * *

She was all Sherlock could think about. Not that that was a change from the norm, but it seemed like now he couldn't push it to the back of his mind anymore.

The way they had met had been coincidental. But he had been so foolish, so blind as to put it down to fate. The notion was laughable. Fate, in the 21st century, just didn't work like that.

She despised him. She had hated him all along, and he had been so blind. _So_ blind. He had mindlessly accepted everything she had said to him, and she had just lied again and again through her teeth. He knew he should be angry, he should be furious, but he just didn't have the capacity for something as tiring as emotion. Not anymore.

_You once said that being alone protected you."_ He recalls how she took his hands from his sides and gently brought them together.

He could remember so vividly how her skin on his would always cause a sensation of electricity to shoot through his veins, making him want to stand up straighter.

_"But even if that's what you think,"_ Could anyone fake that?

_"I'll never leave you."_ _But you left me. "Even if you push me away, or you give up on me,"_ Sherlock screws his eyes shut. _"I'll always protect you."_

Could anyone truly fake that? The raw emotion that he saw from her at times when they would talk about things such as feelings seemed to be the kind that you just couldn't fake. However, he had cold, hard evidence, compared to his own gut feeling and wishful thinking.

The fact that the girl he had known had in fact never existed was purely heart wrenching, that he had been taken for a fool, his emotions swindled by an elaborate trick.

Despite everything, he was having trouble believing it. Despite being told to his face that she was nothing but a fallen angel, he couldn't stop thinking of Ramona as a real person. But, he supposed, anyone so perfect for him could hardly be real, could they?

He fell asleep on the leather couch.

"Sherlock?" A pair of pale grey eyes drift open, gaze slowly adjusting.

When The Consulting Detective puts a name to a face, he struggles not to roll his eyes.

"Oh for God's sake."

"I suggest you get up, Sherlock, and quickly." Mycroft's tone made him sit up on the couch, even though his eyes were still clouded.

"Who needs me this time?" Mycroft pauses.

"_England._" There's an exasperated sigh intertwined with the word.

Sherlock looks up at him for a few seconds, before looking away, letting out a harsh cough.

"I see you've gotten yourself a simply _delightful _smoker's cough." Mycroft states, and Sherlock rolls his eyes.

It was an understatement to say that he was bitter about how he had set him up.

"Not in the mood, Mycroft."

"There could be lives depending on you-"

"Five more minutes."

Mycroft suddenly slams his umbrella hard onto the floor, making Sherlock flinch slightly.

"SHERLOCK HOLMES!" His voice is furious. "For the love of God, pull yourself together!"

The Detective almost feels guilty for a second.

"What do you think Ramona would think if she saw you like this?!" Sherlock's eyes widen in outrage as a pang runs through him, and he begins to stand up.

"Mycroft..." His voice has a deep undertone of warning and pleading. Mycroft almost felt guilty.

, he dismissed the emotion. As always. There were much more important things to focus on. He gritted his teeth and decided to prod this 'pressure point' of his. It seemed to be the only thing that could elicit any kind of reaction from Sherlock, these days.

"She gave her life for you to be safe, and this is how you repay her?" He feels tears start to sting his eyes. "She'd be disgusted-"

Mycroft is cut off by Sherlock's hand at his collar, staring him down with bared teeth and barely controlled furious breathing.

"_Never _bring her up, Mycroft. _Never_. Or I won't be able to take responsibility for my actions."

His brother's face melts into a pleasant smile, at the hint of any emotion other than numbness and melancholy from his little brother.

"Welcome back, brother mine." Sherlock lets go and takes a slight step back, in shock. "That's one way to motivate you, I suppose."

He straightens his suit out again, dusting himself off.

"What's so urgent, anyway?" The Ice Man's expression turns grim.

"Jim Moriarty." Sherlock's brow creases. "You must have slept through it. It would appear he's alive, Sherlock."

* * *

It was a few hours after breakfast, and Sebastian, whom she had figured out was in fact Jim's right hand man, was to take her shopping, as she had little to no clothes apart from what she had been wearing, and a pair of heavy jeans with a couple of tops and jumpers.

Mona had found this odd, but had been informed that they moved around a lot. It turned out that they were in fact very wealthy, and where they were staying at the moment was only one of the hundreds of houses they had around the world, and being on the wrong- or right- side of the law, they tended to travel light.

The disoriented woman was still protecting her eye from the light, praying that it would return to normal in a couple of days.

She now sat in the living room, trying to piece together any sort of memory.

"Did he take the bait?" Jim's voice can be heard from the other corner of the room, looking out of the window.

"I'm afraid not." There's a pause, and she takes a short breath. The other voice was digital, and belonged to an Irish woman.

Mona turns to see who it was on the other end of the call, and sees that the camera on the other side is turned off.

"Good."

"He's a mess, Jim. Everyone's worried to death about him, everyone I've talked to say they've never seen him in such a state."

"He's only worth going up against if he's completely detached from emotion; if he's broken. I'd say we've achieved that quite easily, wouldn't you?" There's a short laugh from the digital voice.

"It really was a stroke of luck." The other voice muses. "You can finally get rid of him."

"I'll do a bit more than that."

"Oh?"

"I wanted to burn the heart out of him." Mona's interest is now piqued, and has half themind to ask who he's talking to, and about, but she realises that she doesn't have the guts. "But I realised I couldn't do that. So instead, I've just taken it from him. Moved what makes him human just _slightly _out of his reach."

"When he figures out Magnussen was just one of your pawns-"

_Magnussen. _

A crippling pain begins in her head, and she screws her eyes shut in pain, Mona's hands going to her head.

She knew that name. She could feel it at the back of her mind, biting down up to her nerve endings and frustrating her. Where did she know that name from?

"Mona?" Her eyes snap open, to see Sebastian entering again.

He looked concerned as he walked over to her.

"Is everything okay?"

"Magnussen." Jim stills, his eyes shifting to her. "I... I think I know that name."

"You've never heard that name before, Mona." Her brother tells her from across the room, and she blinks twice.

"N-no, I think I do-"

"No you don't, dear!" The last word was yet again a patronising hybrid of singing and speaking (and threatening?), and it unnerved her.

"Okay." Her voice almost comes out as a whisper, and yet again, she feels like crying in frustration.

Mona feels as if she is a shattered fragment of herself, only a fraction of her former glory, and that she's letting everyone (including herself) down by only managing to be this.

"You're going to your house in a few hours, so-" The Tiger begins, his tone soft.

"I'm married." Mona says, looking down at her hand in shock.

The two rings were silver, and the engagement ring featured a huge rectangular diamond that immediately put her off, deciding she must have been one for very flashy jewelry, that now didn't appeal to her in the slightest. Had she really changed so much that even her choice in rings were different?

"You don't even remember your own husband?" Jim asks, his tone distraught.

"Who am I married to? And why do I live with you?"

"You don't live with me, I've been taking care of you for the weeks you've been out." He explains. "Your husband is a very important... Businessman," Her brother asks, sounding as if he was choosing his words carefully. "So it wouldn't have been an option for him to take care of you."

"I... Who is he? And when will I see him?" Jim and Sebastian share a look, with a mixture of emotions that her mind was too foggy to recognise.

"You're married to a one Sherrinford Holmes." Her brother states.

_HOLMES _

At this word, she gets the most debilitating, searing pain she had ever felt in her head, running in between her ears and deep into her brain, feeling as if her skull would crack into two.

"Mona? Mona?" Sebastian's faint voice can be heard as her vision doubles and her features contort in pain behind her hands.

"What's happening?" Jim asks, quickly walking over to her.

The throbbing starts to ebb away as the time passes from when Jim had said that word, _that name_, and she began to feel like herself again. Like herself after the 'tumble', that is. That was as good as it could get, right now_**.**_

"I'm fine." She suddenly felt exhausted. "I'm fine."

The boys exchange another look, this time of apprehensiveness.

* * *

A few hours later, there is a knock at the door. Sebastian goes to open it, and revealed is the scientist that invented the drug she had been given, carrying a black leather briefcase.

He has greying hair and large brown eyes, and looks terrified as he walks into the room.

Jim turns to meet his gaze, and the man visibly swallows. For some reason, this makes Mona want to smile.

"I- I did a bit of research as to the parts of the brain Lazarus effects and the memory loss, and it- it um, would seem that , uh-" She realises he has a stutter.

"Her eye first, please." Sebastian butts in, his tone stern. The mans eyes widen before nodding quickly, and sitting down on the couch next to her. He gently takes her hand away from her eye, and looked shocked. Initially. But Mona noticed the comprehension dawn on his face, as if he'd guessed this sort of thing could happen, but had hoped it wouldn't. And it made her already aching head deal out even more punishment to her skull .

"I see."

"How long will it be like that for?" She asks, and his expression becomes even more uneasy.

"I'm afraid... I'm afraid it may be like that forever." He turns to his briefcase, unclipping and opening it. "You-you'll need something to cover it, if you want to go into the light."

"What, like an eye-patch?" It seemed as if everything that she said was a question.

"Act-actually, I've been working on this-" He holds up a small glass bottle, with something that looks like a contact floating inside. "In case something like this happened." She took it from him. "It's um, uh, a contact made with a silver coating over the top."

She takes it out so that the curved circular thing is on the tip of her index finger. It was reflective and indeed silver, and it would cover her pupil as well.

"The coating reflects light, so there should be no more pain." She nods, and puts it on with a surprising ease. The man looks at her with a stunned look for a second, before continuing.

"About the memory loss." He begins. "The-the headaches you've been experiencing... It is very dangerous for you to regain your memories."

"Dangerous?" Jim asks, his brow creased.

"The parts of the brain that the drug effects, it seems t-to have also locked off some places in your subconscious. U-unlocking these places now could result in a..." He looks from the two men and back to her. "A brain aneurysm."

Her eyes widen in shock and fear.

"What are the odds?" Her brother's voice.

"Th- the odds?"

"The odds of you being a pair of shoes in the next couple of hours." Jim's eyes are even darker than usual, in understandable annoyance.

"I'd h-hazard a guess at... Fifty-fifty." She bit her lip in concern, at the realisation that any breath could be her last. "Have you been having any-"

"Headaches, yeah. If I hear a name that I recognise." She butts in.

"W-words and objects are probably the only things that could trigger it."

"Words and objects." She quotes quietly, worry flooding into her. Did she want to live without her memories, or was the risk worth it?

Mona scans the people around her.

Then again, how could she be sure these people were telling the truth? This could all be a setup, an elaborate ruse to kidnap her. It would explain her 'brother's' quiet, terrorizing abilities, and Sebastian's constantly gentle voice. On the other hand, what other evidence did she have to go on?

Her husband would clear this up. She'd regain clarity in her head, and piece together who she used to be, without triggering any sort of aneurysm, if she could help it.

Mona decided she would definitely get past this. She'd figure out the truth, whatever the cost.

* * *

**Sorry for the shortness! It's for pacing, trust me ;) **

**I'd say most cats are out of the bag now, what do you lot think? **

**I've also added 2 characters in which are in the ACD canon but not in the show, yet, anyway. **

**Thanks for reading :) Reviews give me loads of motivation, and I'm eternally grateful for anyone who leaves one!**


	53. Zombie

**Zombie - Jamie T**

**I own nothing, etc etc etc, lawsuit**

* * *

The black Mercedes pulled up outside a C-shaped stately home, which had two sets of stairs spiraling slightly to meet two huge doors on the outside.

It had been a five minute journey down the mile long driveway, and Mona now found herself being helped out of the back of the car, staring up at the sky. The said sky was starting to clear slightly, but the weather was still cold.

She thought about what her brother had said- about them being the rulers of the criminal underworld. If that was true, then just what kind of businessman was her husband?

Was the marriage even one of passion, or was it just one of convenience and business? She wasn't sure which one she wanted it to be.

Jim walks beside her as they make their way up the steps, and he knocks on the door twice. To her surprise, a butler opens the door, and bows (bows!) when he sees them.

He turns and leads them inside, and she finds herself gaping at the structure. It looked to be built in the fifteen hundreds, and was something of a masterpiece in elegance and luxury, the floors a cream coloured marble you could see yourself in and on which Jim's expensive shoes were clicking, the walls adorned with what were probably hundreds of historical portraits, and on the ceilings hung enormous crystal chandeliers, and there was one coming up in front of them in the long hallway that cascaded down in waves, in front a wide set of stairs, that led up to a stained glass window, before splitting and going different ways, and then up and back on themselves.

They got to underneath this light fixture, and the butler stopped, turning to face them and simply gesturing to his right. She followed her confident-as-ever brother, as he opened a door for her.

She finds herself in a big drawing room, a grand piano in the opposite right hand side corner, with a huge fireplace on the wall that the door was situated on, opposite a big bay window, overlooking the beautiful views of English countryside and the acres of grounds situated around the mansion, the lake visible in the distance.

There were two armchairs and a sofa around the lit fire, and she froze, upon seeing a man sitting on the armchair.

He stood up and turned to them, with a smile as pleasantly warm as the room.

"My dear, I was informed of the terrible news." He walks towards her, and takes her hand, placing a gentlemanly kiss onto it, before turning to her brother.

"Thank you for taking care of her, James."

"My pleasure, Sherrinford." They shake hands, as Jim grins up at the smiling man.

He looked to be in his forties, almost double her age. He had black hair with slightly unruly curls, but was cut in a way that made it neat and framed his chiseled face.

Her husband's eyes were a mix of green and deep blue, the colour of sea water trapped underneath ice. His nose was large, but straight and not necessarily unpleasant, and was wearing a very expensive looking bespoke grey suit, with a black tie and a white shirt, the first button of the jacket done up.

Although he was polite enough, there was something about the way he moved that unnerved her. He moved swiftly and without hesitation, knowing exactly what he wanted to do, like she envisioned a predator might move.

Did she love this man?

Any insight into him would be good, but she found it strange she wasn't experiencing a headache in the house. Could it be, that her theory of her not being who they say she is is true, and these men were just-

"How are you feeling, darling?" Sherrinford's deep voice, with perfect diction and an upper-crust tone, brought her out of her incriminating train of thought.

"Uh..." She glanced sideways briefly at Jim, who gave her an encouraging smile.

Mona felt that she was being babied, and perhaps for quite good reason. The truth was, she felt completely out of it, with nothing but endless question marks for an identity, and someone who she felt wasn't herself staring back at her in every reflective surface she saw.

"I'm fine, thank you." She lied. "It's all just been a bit of a confusing morning is all."

The house was huge, and a sudden thought struck her. Did they have children?

He gives her a gentle smile, and his eyes seem happy.

"I can imagine." She decides that he definitely isn't ugly, and is reasonably handsome. "You must be so disorientated." Mona finds herself nodding, as if a snake being charmed. "Anna is waiting outside for you, she'll show you to our room. I recommend you get some sleep."

Before she registers what she actually has to do, her body is already moving her out of the room.

After getting changed into pyjamas, she quickly fell asleep in the huge bedroom with a bigger bed, almost sinking into the mattress.

_"Do you think I can't see you behind these?"_

_"Vice versa."_

_"How do you feel about the violin?"_

_"How do you feel about the guitar?"_

_"Aren't you going to ask about all the human body parts?"_

_"Experiments, I presume. Unless you're some kind of perverted serial killer, and you don't seem to be the latter."_

_"Hello."_

_"How do you know her?"_

_"Neighbor."_

_"Will you stop now?"_

_"Were you trying to take my pulse again?"_

_"I just thought-"_

_"Did you carry me bridal style?"_

_You don't. It's... generally perceived as weird."_

_"You're generally perceived as weird, Mr-"_

Mona awoke with a gasp and a violent migraine, shooting up and clutching at her chest, her heart feeling like it wanted to escape from her rib-cage; it was beating so hard.

She was damp with sweat, and took a moment to calm and regulate her breathing.

_Was I dreaming? Or were those...were those memories? That voice that I heard... It was unlike anything I heard yesterday. It was beautiful._

But nothing that sounds like that can be real.

Putting a hand up to her pounding head, Mona closed her eyes momentarily, trying to get a grip of her spinning mind.

After taking a deep breath, she looked over to the bedside table, and saw a ridiculously clean glass filled with water, and two aspirins next to it. She took no time in taking them, and after a few minutes began to feel the rough sea inside her head calm to gentle waves.

She noticed that the early morning sun was starting to creep into the room she hadn't paid much attention to.

It had a large fireplace opposite the bed, and to her left was the external wall of it, with two big shuttered doors that led out onto a sizable balcony.

It seemed that everything she had encountered was huge so far. It seemed like some sort reflection onto the life she was leading, or perhaps she was digging too deep for answers that just weren't there.

Getting up slowly, she realises that she had been the only one to sleep in that bed the entire night. This was presumably their bed, and she took into account that it was a very gentlemanly thing to do.

Someone (presumably the maid, Anna) had laid out an outfit, and a towel was folded on her dressing table, along with items that would normally be used in a shower. She took the things, and went to to the other door, guessing that it lead to an en suite, and being pleasantly surprised to learn that she had guessed right.

After the shower, Mona studies the clothes she has been given.

The clothes suprise her, a pair of black material shorts, and a white shirt, with a sports bra, a hair bobble and a pair of athletic trainers at the chair.

As her frown grows, there is a small knock at the door, and she turns as Anna makes an appearance.

"Good morning, Mrs." She gives a small smile, hair still slightly damp.

"Ah. Morning, Anna." The girl looks timid, as she walks inside, and Mona decides she liked this girl. She's a few years younger than herself, and has beautiful hazel eyes, with soft auburn locks, of which a few curls escaped from the neat bun on top of her head.

"You have your sparring lesson this morning, so I took the liberty of setting out your clothes, I wasn't sure you'd know where they were." A blush seems to creep up her face at the sight of Mona only in a towel. She looks down at herself, and her eyes widen slightly, swallowing, and hiking up the towel slightly.

"Thank you." She surprised herself at how well she could handle people serving her. Was she used to it? "Do you have the time?"

"Nine thirty, Miss Moriarty." She frowns in confusion. _Why am I being called Miss Moriarty when I'm married to a Holmes?_

"Mona, please."

"O-okay." There is a slight silence, where Mona tries to catch her eye with a reassuring smile. Anna returns the smile, and it puts her at ease. She walks over to the television remote, and points it at the big television in the corner of the room.

"Yesterday, Britain, along with the rest of the western world, was shocked to find footage of James Moriarty on every screen across the country." A short clip is played. "To remind the viewers at home, this is the man who simultaneously opened the cells in Pentonville prison, broke into the Bank of England, and effectively stole the crown jewels. After being caught red-handed," A clip shows of him surrounded by press, being led out of a police van and up the steps of The Old Bailey. "He later walked away scott-free, being found not guilty!"

"Although he was confirmed to be deceased after shooting himself on the roof of Saint Bartholomew s Hospital in London, it seems that he is, in fact, alive. This man is considered extremely dangerous and is not to be approached by the public." His mugshot is shown, and Mona raises an eyebrow. "He is, of course, also famed for being the arch-nemesis of-"

At this, the television breaks off, having lost signal. Mona frowns, and Anna looks around anxiously, as if it were somehow her doing. After a few seconds, it turns back on.

"He was unavailable for comment."

She frowns, and turns off the television.

"Interesting." Mona mutters, almost to herself, before turning back to Anna. "Sparring, then, was it?" She turns back around to the pretty maid, who nods.

* * *

"Let's see what you can do, then." The boxing instructor was intimidating, to say the least.

Well, he_ was_ Sebastian Moran, and that was about as intimidating as it got.

"I'm not sure I can do anything, Seb." He sighed.

"I thought you d have rid me of that ridiculous nickname with that memory loss, but it appears I've had no such luck." She grins.

"Go easy on me, would you?" The black gloves wrapped around her hands feel strange, and the full extent of Sebastian's body was now visible.

To put it simply, he was the scariest thing she had ever seen- although admittedly she hadn't seen a lot- a mountain of chiseled muscle that towered above her. She swallows.

"Remind me never to piss you off." She mutters.

Mona puts her fists up to her face, bobbing side to side slightly, slightly playful, ponytail appearing at either side of her face with every bob, and not completely serious.

It seemed Sebastian didn't realise she wasn't being as serious as him, as they begin to circle each other, bringing his own fists to guard his face, elbow points down to keep his rib cage safe.

Out of nowhere, a quick strike comes flying towards her face.

Her eyes widen and she ducks rapidly.

She rises up again, eyes wide, surprise evident on her face at the fact she had managed to avoid the fatal blow.

"What was that?" Mock outrage is evident in her tone.

"A punch." He replies, and they keep circling.

"Easy, tiger." Jim's voice is amused, sat at the side of the boxing ring.

The gymnasium was located underneath the mansion, the pool visible in the other room.

It was an understatement to say she felt she had struck amnesiac gold, having been suddenly thrust into a world of money and no worries, being able to wile her days away with things such as boxing with ex-military men and having infamous criminals as spectators.

Sebastian's eyes leave hers momentarily to reply to Jim, and she takes this oppurtunity to punch him in the gut.

Her quickly propelled fist is met with something that could resemble a brick wall.

She cries out in pain and holds her hand, cursing with the worst words she knew, fearing one of her fingers could be broken, even though she knew the gloves mostly protected her hands.

Sebastian turned back to her with a smirk, and she looked up in fear, eyes widening.

"Hey, hey, let's not get any-" He takes a step towards her, and she feels real fear rise, even though he was just joking around. "We can just talk this out, yeah? No hard feelings?" His smile grows as she holds her hands out in front of her to keep the distance between them.

"I've got a tip for you, Mona." Jim's voice. She turns and see's he has a look of amusement plastered over his face. "Use his own force against him." Mona frowns momentarily, and then nods slowly.

He goes in for another punch, and suddenly, time seems to slow around her as she thinks.

Turning quickly to the side, his fist goes straight past her face, and she feels the glove brushing the very tip of her nose, and she raises her elbow, smashing it into his face, a bit more viciously than she had meant to.

He stumbles back, eyes wide, his hand going to his nose, and coming back with blood. She cringes, half in shock that she actually did that.

He looks down at his hand, before looking back at her.

"I was just doing what he said." She pointed down at the slightly stunned man. "His fault."

Mona looks down at her brother, and they share a look containing identical bit back grins, before both turning back to the injured man.

"Alright, good. That was good." Her eyes widen at his calm demeanor, as his nose had stopped bleeding.

"Er... I'm sorry about-"

She's cut off by a punch to the gut, winding her and sending her back onto the ropes.

"You've awakened the beast." Jim remarks, with a laugh. She tries to regain her breath, feeling as if her lungs were just a pair of collapsed paper bags.

Mona quickly gathers her mind again and shakes herself out, readying her body for the fight. If she could train her mind to quicken when she was being hit... It generally wasn't something normal, was it?

After about twenty minutes of sparring, Ramona was exhausted and practically drenched with sweat in the least attractive way, Sebastian still on his toes and ready for another round, or hundred.

"Could we just..." She gets out, in between pants. "Time out for a minute."

"No rest for the wicked, Mona!" Her brow creases in annoyance as he goes to hit her in the face, and she grabs his wrist as his knuckles are an inch away from the tip of her nose.

"Fine." Her tone was exasperated. He pulls his hand free and puts them back up to his face, grinning behind his defence. She too draws up her fists.

She scopes out the targets on his body as they circle each other. She knew to keep moving as, if she didn't, it would make her a sitting duck.

"Keep a low stance!" Jim shouts in to her, and she grits her teeth in annoyance, but nods, watching Sebastian's shoulders and hips. "Remember, speed beats power-"

"If you'd like to actually come up here instead of just handing out those pearls of wisdom you're more than welcome, Jim!" He laughs.

"Thanks, but no thanks." He shrugs. "I don't like getting my hands dirty." Did that mean that she did?

"Then stop trying to distract us and shut up!" Sebastian interjects, and Mona grins. It seemed that if she could get behind him, she might have a chance.

"Charming." Her brother states.

She uses this slight distraction to her advantage, and her gloved left fist connects with his jaw powerfully, sending him reeling back a couple of steps.

"Mrs Holmes, Mr Moriarty, Mr Moran, your lunch is ready in the conservatory."

"It's Miss Moriarty." Jim almost snaps at the young woman (that wasn't Anna) peering around the door, before his expression fades into something more put on for her sake. "She decided not to take his name." _So that was why? Makes sense, I suppose, but why wouldn't I take his name?_

"Oh! Yes, of course, of course. I'm sorry." She nods quickly, and scuttles away quickly.

The house had thirty members of staff in total, and she had only seen five, or six if you counted the gardener currently attending to a patch of flowers outside.

* * *

"So, what's my story?"

"Sorry?" Sebastian asks, through a mouthful of food.

He isn't the politest of eaters, regardless of his background, and she guesses that his military background has something to do with it.

"I knew this conversation'd come up sooner or later." Jim says, after taking a drink and setting the glass back down on the expensive oak of the table delicately.

They sat on a circular table in the airy conservatory, the floor tiled, and the view dampened by the now overcast sky.

"There are three of us." He says. "Me, Ciara, and you."

A pang runs through her, and she holds her head in her hand for a second. She had found she could get past names, if she tries hard enough.

"We're triplets."

"Triplets." She repeats, eyes narrowing.

"You and her are identical, but I'm from a separate egg, which is why we look so different."

"Uhuh." Mona confirms.

"We got split up when we were born. Terrible ordeal, huge sob story."

Her brow creases at his informality. Don't people normally have issues talking about bad things in their past?

"We're Irish, obviously, and our mother was from a deeply Catholic county. So, you can imagine the townspeople's shock when a young girl becomes illegitimately pregnant from a rich traveling French businessman, who quickly skips town."

"That's..." Mona grimaces. "Horrible."

"It's not even the worst part." He says this with a sort of delightful tone that confuses her. "You see, she wasn't able to keep all of us. So, she took the girls, and immigrated to England, leaving little old me to grow up all alone, in a catholic nunnery, which as you can imagine, wasn't all that great."

Sebastian munches casually on the end of a breadstick, as if bored, making a loud chewing noise, that seemed to be right in her ear.

"But you remember that big bad Frenchman? Yeah, turns out he's a lot bigger, and a lot badder than you thought. I got adopted by my own dad at nine, and then, when I was sixteen, I killed him." He shrugs, himself reaching for a breadstick.

Mona can do nothing but stare open-mouthed at the man who just admitted to murdering his own (her own) father.

"You...killed him?"

"What?" He's completely nonchalant, taking a bite of breadstick. "Oh. Yeah. Totally. Stabbed the bastard." He nods to himself, and she's slightly taken aback by the use of a swear, as she had thought that he wasn't the type to curse often. Could it be that it was just the mention of their father that drove him to use bad language?

She takes a moment, and then composes herself.

"Why?" Mona surprises herself as to how composed her voice is.

"To put it quite simply, he was the most vile, repulsive, depraved, miserable, nasty lunatic I have ever come across. And I'm Jim Moriarty."

So that was the person she came from?

"After that, I killed his 'family', and got the money and the estate as his next of kin." He smiled in satisfaction, as if reminiscing about the time he had killed an entire family in cold blood. "Pretty neat, don't you think?"

"And you didn't go to prison?"

"Two years isn't that long." He remarks casually.

So he had been like this his whole life, that was fairly obvious. He had been completely insane his entire life.

She takes a breath, looking straight forward, blinking twice.

"Well... That was a _lovely _story, but maybe don't tell it to too many people." The men crack humorous smiles.

"And my husband... Sherrinford." Jim turned to her with a raised eyebrow. "He's not just a businessman, is he?" A grin grew across his features.

"Good girl, Mona, good girl." Sebastian has already almost finished the meal. "As sharp as always." So she was sharp. "No, he's much more than a businessman. He is the businessman. The personification of business itself, as it happens." Her brow furrows at the cryptic description. "No money on earth passes hands without Sherrinford Holmes knowing about it, no sir. Everyone you've ever met, he can do more than own them, more than crush them." His dark eyes turn serious. "He can make it seem as if they never existed in the first place. Turn your very name into little less than a whisper in the wind."

She realises for the first time just how remarkably well groomed her brother is, and the obvious effort that he put into his appearance made her chest swell with a small amount of pride. She supposed it wasn't the strangest thing to feel, as they were in fact related, but it was odd considering she could only view him through the eyes of a stranger.

"The only person that I'd be second to, and that's saying something." He smiles. "And the only man I'd ever let lay a hand on you." He says this as if talking about the weather, completely unfazed.

Despite having only known him for a day, she could feel the sibling connection, a bond that was already forged, and it was certainly strong. Although they hadn't talked enough for a full range of his character to be made known, he was kind to her, and she suspected he wasn't a very kind man.

**Sherlock **

_"What's that?" Sherlock asks her, as he closes the door behind him, taking his gloves off, stuffing them into his pocket and walking over to the table in the living room._

_"Shut up." He raises his eyebrows at the snapped sentence, taking his coat off and hanging it over the chair._

_Sherlock turns and studies the television, and rolls his eyes._

_"You're not seriously playing video games, are you?" Her eyes narrowed at the screen, and she proceeded to pause it, before turning around to him._

_She was sat on the floor with various snacks littered around her, huge litre bottles of sports and fizzy drinks around her, with big chocolate bars and crisps._

_"What are you said?" He frowns at her clearly wrong grammar choice._

_"You're playing video games."_

_"Problem?" He smirked, and something stirred in his stomach, at the fact that she was picking up his vocabulary._

_"Did you buy a console?" He goes to sit in his chair, and her eyes follow him. From her slightly jittery hands, it was clear she was on a huge sugar high._

_"What? Oh, um yes. I mean- Harry, Hannah's boyfriend, it's his old three sixty. Gived it to me." He bites back a grin._

_"He gived it to you, did he?"_

_"He gaved- gave me it." he chuckles briefly, as she frowns slightly, blinking._

_"You're certainly embracing the culture." He surveyed the couple of feet of bombsite around her._

_"I've completed all the games- all the games? all the games and I'm stuck on this one." She picks up the case and hands it to him. He reads the blurb briefly._

_"Portal two?"_

_"Yeah, whatever, yeah." She goes to turn back to the screen, but her eyes suddenly light up and she flies back around. He sighs at her expression._

_"What?"_

_"There's co-op mode. There's two controllers." He raises an eyebrow._

_"You want me to play?" _

_"Oh no, I was gonna ask Hudders." He's almost surprised that she can deliver such a quick reply in the state she was in, shrugging._

_"Okay." She gives a toothy grin, scampering around on her hands and knees, before finding the other controller and passing it up to him. She pushes herself back a few feet, so that her back is resting against the middle of the leather chair, in between his spread legs. _

_His eyes widen at the back of her head, but ignores it, as it was clearly innocent._

_"Left joystick is to move, right is to look, RT yellow portal, LT red portal, X or RB pick up, A or LB to jump, B or R three to crouch or duck." He nods._

_She goes to the main menu, and selects co-op._

_"The first few courses'll be team building. Easy."_

_"I''ll be P-body, you're Atlas." These terms mean absolutely nothing to him, but he nods._

_"Okay, stand on the red button." She guides him, pointing at the screen._

_"That...opens door that isn't blocked by a glass wall. Okay." Sherlock decides she's taking this way too seriously. "I'll make a Yellow Portal on that white wall... And I'm inside. Step off the Red Button. That closes the door. Go on the other red button... that opens the door behind the glass wall."_

_"Now if you step through the door and make a Red Portal on the other white wall." She frowned in surprise, turning around to watch him._

_"You can walk through the Yellow Portal, joining me. and we can go into the Dis-assembly Chamber." The level is completed, and Sherlock is thoroughly unimpressed._

_"Not exactly a hard game." She scowls and whips her head round to meet his eyes._

_"It gets harder. Trust me." He shrugs._

_Twelve hours later, they're both sitting on the floor, half screaming at each other and the game. Sherlock has undone another button of his shirt, and her hair is messy. The pair are running on fizzy drinks, sweets and chocolate._

_They had been stuck for ten minutes, and Sherlock was getting frustrated._

_"We should just look at the walk-through." Ramona turns to him in horror as he produces his phone._

_She leaps onto him, pushing his phone away._

_"Argh!" He shouts out in surprise. "What are you-"_

_"You fool! That defeats the whole purpose! Do that, and the whole game means nothing! NOTHING!" His face drops in realisation._

_"Of course." He looks away, as if having discovered the meaning of life._

_"It's the last- it's the last bloody level!" She exclaims. "And we've nearly done it!"_

_"YES!" Pure joy is the only thing in his voice, as he confirms her statement._

_"Okay, create some momentum and height to jump into my excursion funnel." Sherlock tells her, and she nods in concentration._

_"How?"_

_"jump through adjacent Portals." He tells her, and she nods again._

_"Now just ride the funnel to the catwalk. The control button, press it-"_

_"Sherlock, I don't need a commentator." He raises his eyebrows, but stops talking._

_They backtracked their way out of the room to arrive at the now-coated walkway that leads to the vault. Her eyes sparkle in anticipation, being so close to the end._

_"Okay, we should run along here and jump off, and we can land right in front of the door." Ramona says, and they both do as she had just said._

_They land at their destination._

_"What now?" He asks._

_She frowns, and then, her eyes light up._

_"There's a camera! High five me!" His face makes the same expression, and he quickly runs over to her, doing as she says._

_When they do, the course, and so the game, ends._

_They stare forward in disbelief, before turning to each other. As the cutscene begins, they both roar in elation, flying towards each other and hugging tightly._

_"THANK YOU GOD!" She shouts when they break away, looking up to the ceiling, and putting her hands in prayer position, moving them forwards and backwards._

_Sherlock laughs deeply, half in joy that they had finally finished, half in amusement._

_"I'm so happy!"She exclaims, before looking back down at him. "Thank you comrade!" This earns another laugh._

_"You're more than welcome, comrade." The eye contact makes her pause and swallow for a second._

_"Woohoo!" She breaks the growing sexual tension, throwing her arms in the air. "This calls for a takeaway!" He smiles in amusement, checking his watch._

_"It's six thirty am. Don't think Chico's start delivering just yet." Ramona frowns._

_"What? No way." She crawls towards him, grabbing his wrist and turning so that her face is next to his, and gasps in astonishment. "We pulled an all-nighter!" She laughs, and he can't help but liken it to a piece he had composed when they had first met. "I pulled an all-nighter playing portal two with none other than Sherlock Holmes!" Ramona giggles, and he turns to her, so that their faces were dangerously close, noses almost touching._

_"What's that supposed to mean?" He asks, with a small smirk on his face. She punches him jokingly on the shoulder, perhaps a bit too hard, as he falls backwards, landing on his back on the carpet._

_"Oops." She says, and he smiles, yawning._

_Ramona lies down next to him when he doesn't get up._

_"This was fun." She states._

_"Yeah. Definitely not boring."_

_"Definitely not." She smiles, and closes her eyes, her eyes burning with fatigue._

_"We should do that again." She nods, letting out a high pitch yawn. He starts to outstretch a tentative hand towards her own._

_"You're like, a really good friend." A pang runs through him, and he retracts the hand, placing it on his torso, feeling idiotic. "Like, it's like we're brother and sister. Or you're my dad." She starts to get more worked up. "Or-"_

_"Shut up now, Ramona." He tells her, almost snapping, the notion of them being related making him feel perverted._

_"Okay." She replies quicker, and he smiles._

* * *

Sherlock opens his eyes as the past Sherlock closes his, and feels a different sort of pang at harsh reality.

The memory had come from only a few months ago, after she had been shot.

He sighs and reaches out for the glass of whiskey he kept at his bedside table, to find that it was missing. The Consulting Detective turns in confusion, to find a girl with wild spiralling hair standing before him. His vision takes awhile to adjust, but when it does, he registers seeing a sort of grimace upon her delicate features.

"Oh. It's you." His tone is uninterested and edging on cold, as he turns onto his back, staring up at the white ceiling, before closing his eyes.

"How're you holding up?"

"Better than it looks. Did you-"

"I poured it down the sink." His eyes shoot open and he looks towards her in outrage.

"I'm sorry?"

"I got rid of it." He lifts a hand to the bridge of his nose and pinches in annoyance. "England needs Sherlock Holmes, and I'd really like to see him again."

"Of course you would. He's a delightful man." She smiles a little.

"Everyone misses you." He sighs painfully.

"Everyone misses her, too, but she's not coming back anytime soon. So why should I?" Truthfully, he missed Sherlock Holmes more than anyone else. But he was missing a part of himself, one that he couldn't find anywhere.

She sighs, and her eyes soften even more, if that was even possible.

"You need to try and heal, and you're not doing that on your own."

"Obviously." He retorts. "Look, thank you for your concern, but I do not need to 'heal', because there's no wound."

"There aren't always visible wounds for things that hurt, Sherlock." At this, he swallows.

"How poetic of you." The detective's tone is now venomous. "Come here on my brother's orders, have you?" Hannah looks uneasy, shifting her weight slightly.

"No." He scoffs. "And that's the truth, Sherlock. I wouldn't bother lying to you, not now."

"You've done a pretty good job up to now." Her brow furrows in something that resembles pain.

"Let me take you out. Just for a few hours. Some fresh air in your system'll do you good." He huffs in annoyance. "Come on, just a while outside, you'll feel so much better. I promise."

At this, he flinches, her voice running through his mind, those words wrapped with the package of her tone making him feel sea sick on dry land. Sherlock has no intention of moving, as she moves closer, the volume dropping to an almost secretive whisper.

"I'm not supposed to tell you this... But Mycroft's thinking about sending you to rehab." Sherlock jumps up and out of his bed suddenly, only in his pyjama bottoms.

"Beautiful day for a trip into town, don't you think?" He tells her. She cracks a beaming smile.

"Not really, it's overcast. But at the same time," She smiles in a far-away fashion. "Yeah, it's a beautiful day."

Sherlock struggles not to roll his eyes at her naive sense of unwavering optimism.

* * *

**Ah, the sweet smell of an even more angsty Sherlock! **

**And yes, I did make the television turn off when it was about to feature Sherlock, u mad? ;)**

**Thanks so so so much for reading! Review to make my day, and all my love to you if you leave one! **


	54. America

**America - Razorlight**

**I own nothing apart from my OCs!**

**This chapter was edited by my brilliant Beta Reader, which is the reason it's not filled with nonsense! **

* * *

Sherlock looks down at the woman who was dressed in a short tan trench coat, buttoned up against the cold air,with the belt tied in a neat bow, and blue jeans with high heels, the front of her hair somehow pinned back.

"Happy?"

They walk side by side, Sherlock's gloved hands buried inside his coat pockets.

"We've been outside for literally two minutes. Don't think you're getting out of this one so easily, mate."

There's a brief moment of silence, before he sharply inhales a lungful of the fresh air that Hannah had been raving about. Or, at least, the closest thing you could get to fresh air in Central London.

"You've postponed the wedding, then." She nods slowly.

"Yeah. It doesn't feel right... Without her. She was going to be head bridesmaid. I don't know if I want to get married without her there at all, actually."

Hannah and Harry had moved out a month ago, and gotten a much nicer starter home somewhere in the posh, stylish part of London.

"Understandable." He replies, looking forwards.

He'd decided that he'd not talk about her to anybody. But, he knew that he shared a blank space, with the woman walking beside him. Sherlock wanted to get at least a fraction of the weight off his chest, which seemed to just get heavier every day, instead of lighter, like it was supposed to.

"I don't want to do much of anything these days."He added, after a brief pause.

"I've noticed." She says. "Did you get the letter about the will?" He frowns and turns his ice cold gaze towards her.

"Will? What will?" She sighs.

"That's a no, then."

"It would appear so."

"Her will, Sherlock." He looks away in discomfort. "You feature quite heavily, actually."

"Oh?"

"You got..." She looks up, as if in thought.

Sherlock frowned. Why was he in the will at all if she hadn't cared for him?

"Well, you didn't get anything."

He almost snorts in laughter, and looks away, shaking his head slightly and wondering what he had expected exactly.

"But I got left you." He raises a brow and looks back towards her, doing a double take.

"You got left me?!" He repeats incredulously. "I was her possession, was I?"

"The exact words were 'look after him, god knows he needs it. And tell him no severed fingers in the butter dish.'" He grits his teeth. "She wasn't wrong, was she?"

"Sorry to burst your bubble, but I don't need you." His tone was harsher than he'd anticipated. "I don't need anyone."

"Even so... It was her dying wish, alright? I'll do what she asked." Sherlock frowns in confusion, perplexed and frustrated as to why he was being subjected to this, even in her death. "That's why I've taken the liberty of moving back into 221C." His eyes widen. "Just me, just for a while. To help you get back on your feet."

"You can't be serious."

"I'll be your sober companion!" She exclaims cheerfully, and Sherlock's taken aback by the sheer warmth radiating from around her. He stops, and studies her for a moment, his gaze cynical.

"You don't fool me. You're even worse than me."

_'Oh, really?'_ challenged the most prominent voice in his head, disturbingly similar to that of Ramona.

_'Shut up.'_ His voice now, as he tried to break away from the imaginary her he had created.

"Those shadows under your eyes, the creases on your jumper indicate that you've been sleeping in your clothes, and the stain on the thigh of your jeans is vodka, not water." Her expression falters, and he shrugs. "She _is_ your best friend, after all."

"She _was, _Sherlock." A pang runs through him, and he looks down at the ground, starting to walk again, and she jogs slightly to catch up. "Will you let me keep an eye on you? Just for a while, I'll try not to get in your way."

He takes a moment, as a young man passes, earphones blaring.

"Well, it's either that or rehab."

A Cheshire cat would've been proud at the bright display of her teeth.

**Ramona**

Mona sits down at the grand piano, pushing up the hood, and running her fingers over the ivory white keys, wondering if she knew how to play.

Her brother and Sebastian had left half an hour ago, and she was now left on her own, in the big house, with nothing but the scuttling help to keep her company, who seemed to be too busy to length out some form of conversation.

She tentatively presses down on two keys with the thumb and ring finger of her right hand, almost making herself jump at the sound.

Looking up into the reflective glossy black, Mona began to feel upset again. More than that, she felt lonely. Desperately so.

If she closed her eyes, she was transported to a run down house, one that she had never been to.

The paint was chipped, some walls were broken down, decay and rot was all she could see, the floors nothing but bare wood, sometimes with nails protruding out of it.

It was a bombsite, somewhere abandoned and unused. But she could feel in her bones that it hadn't always been like that, forcing her to the conclusion that her amnesia had put it into that state.

Her eyes open again, and she's faced with the reflection of a woman she just didn't know. There was something resembling anger and irritation in her eyes, as if her past self was screaming at her.

Now that she thought about it, she could feel it. Mona could feel who she used to be, screaming from inside a locked room, banging on the steel door to be let out.

If only she could find the key to that door, she would unlock it this second.

The room was warm against the cold outside, and she made herself smaller inside the v neck jumper she was wearing, the flames in the fireplace wavering slightly as a breeze rolled down the chimney.

The burning question of her identity plagued her every thought and moment, and it was all that she could truly think about, everything else just felt like a mere distraction.

Then again, did she even want to remember? Was her life really worth her memories? On the other hand, was she herself without her life? Being able to remember nothing, not even childhood memories, had the ability to frustrate her to tears, desperately trying to push through the barrier in her mind, and to no avail.

Pressing down again on the keys, she found her hands move of their own accord, and she begins a skillful play-through of something that sounded like a waltz.

Shocking herself, the piece was quick and lighthearted, jumping but flowing at the same time. Getting lost in the playing for a few minutes, the heavy door suddenly opens, and she stops playing instantly, leaving the last notes to hang in the air unpleasantly, as she looks to her right.

"Please, don't stop playing on my account."

It was a woman's voice, which shocked her.

"Grande Valse Brilliante, if I'm not mistaken." Her silk like tones pulls over the words, flustering her slightly.

"Chopin's first waltz." She watched the woman slink over to her, dressed in a white pencil dress, jet black hair pulled up into a sophisticated updo. "I'm sorry, and you would be?"

The Woman smiles, as she closes the last couple of feet between the two, standing at the piano by the bewildered Mona.

"It's always hard to remember a name when you've had a fright, isn't it?" Mona's frown deepened, searching her light eyes and then scanning her face briefly.

It was a beautiful face, with sharp high cheekbones, and a delicate jawline. She decided to steel her resolve, and act how she thought herself would act.

_Yeah, cause that makes so much sense._

"No, actually, it's not."

A smile spreads across The Woman's face. _Is everyone I meet fresh out of a movie? Why are they all so bloody good looking?!_

"Irene. Irene Adler."

Mona stands up, and then, it hits her.

That crippling, screaming, burning, torturous pain that could bring someone to their knees inside her head, all locked up in that small space in her head. Mona screws her eyes shut, struggling not to cry out, before settling it with force.

If she couldn't even control her seemingly once powerful mind, was there anything that she could achieve in this hollowed out version of herself?

Not letting Irene see her so vulnerable, she straightens her spine, and turns into someone that wasn't truly her.

Mona begins circling and looking her up and down, feeling prowess in her own stride.

"And our relationship?" Making eye contact, there was definitely something huge that she knew, and was holding back from the amnesia sufferer.

"You're very wary of me." Irene states, making her eyes narrow.

"Shouldn't I be?"

"Oh, it's definitely not wrong to be wary of me." Mona stops, and takes a step towards her, looking directing into the eyes of Irene, both of them standing at five foot two, the same height.

"If you're so scary, stop talking in riddles, and answer me." At this point she that someone playing on her amnesia was, in fact, a very sensitive subject, finding herself getting angrier than was reasonable.

"Answer what?" She smirks. "Or have you forgotten what you asked me?"

At this, Mona's eyes grow large with rage, and she wills herself not to hit the smirking 'Irene Adler'.

"Remember who you're speaking to, and carefully decide how to apologise."

"I do. Do you?" She raises her eyebrows, and at this, her mouth drops open.

"I could get you thrown out right now. Tell me why you're here, or I swear on all that's-"

Suddenly, she finds her words muffled and silenced by a stolen kiss. Her eyes widen to bigger sizes, as Irene pulls away.

"That kind of relationship, my dear." Mona is frozen for a moment, before taking a step back, and looking around, scandalized.

"I- I'm a married woman!"

"Well, there is that, I suppose."

"Certainly not I am, Ugh-" She narrows her eyes at the floor, her words growing flustered, before gathering herself again. "I am certainly not partaking in a-" She leans in and hisses, "a gay affair!".

Irene smiles, amused.

"How would you know?"

"But I'm... I'm married. That's wrong."

"It is. I think that's what you liked most."

"So, what, I'm gay?" She shrugs.

"I never enquired as to your sexuality. I just know what you like."

There's a moment of silence, where Mona's breathing returns to normal, and she begins to calm. She suddenly realises that there is an atmosphere in the room.

"I want an explanation."

"Marriages like yours... You get bored, you get restless for something different. Your husband's always out, away on some business trip, and you can't help but wonder if he's being faithful. So, you want to see what you're missing out on with extra marital relationships, just in case." She smiles, as if reminiscing. "You and your brother consulted me on a particularly tricky case, and, well, one thing led to another, I suppose." She shrugs.

It was true that she hadn't seen her husband all day, after just having recovered from something that should have been fatal. And again, why would someone go to all this trouble just to get an affair out of her? Then again, she didn't trust this woman. She didn't trust her cat-like eyes, the feline grace in her movements, and most of all, she didn't trust the way she spoke, like it was all from a script.

But was she a kitten, or a lioness?

"How can I trust what you're saying is true? How do I know that all of what you've just said isn't a lie?" This earns nothing but a knowing smile from her, and it seems as if nothing could faze or shake her.

"I had you on that grand piano until you begged for mercy." She leans in with an almost challenging expression, and Mona comes to the conclusion that she was neither a kitten nor a lioness, but a black panther, green eyes staring out of the dark.

"U- until I..." She looked behind The Woman to the glossy midnight varnish of the instrument.

_Yep, definitely washing my hands before tea. _

"Twice."

Mona swallows as Irene stares into her wide eyes. She stays like this for a minute, before, trying to shake it.

She clears her throat and looks away, stepping back from her.

"Yes... Well, um,"

_Does everyone just enjoy pushing me around? Is that the stylish thing to do these days?_

"I'll think about it."

Mona felt proud of herself for being able to turn away someone so beautiful, as shallow as it was. Irene sighs, in something that resembled disappointment.

"Not to worry." She says, starting to walk away. "Good things come to those who wait, don't they?"

These words linger in the air, and the last thing she sees of The Woman is the scarlet red bottom of her black high heels, as she sauntered out of the door.

The bewildered girl lets out a breath she hadn't realised she was holding, and decided that she was definitely, definitely, out of her depth.

Her eye was starting to hurt, and she made a note to change her contacts.

On top of this, although she'd never admit it, she was scared. Everything was so huge it frightened her, and everyone was so bad it unnerved her, as juvenile as it sounded. Mona was afraid of her own life, and her possible past self.

Sighing, she turned to look out of the bay window, watching the sky darken, and wondering if there was anyone out there that could actually tell her something she could believe.

There had to be someone, surely there had to be one person that could make her feel safe?

**Sherlock**

"You called?" Sherlock looks around the door, watching as Hannah begins to put down the last box.

"Yeah..." She straightens back up, brushing her hands together and letting out a sigh of content at her work. "I've got quite a bit to unpack, and I was wondering if-" Her face falls as he turns to leave. "Don't leave me to do this alone, young man!"

He narrows his eyes, turning round.

"Young-? I'm older than you."

"Physically, yeah." He rolls his eyes, and she feels something sink inside her chest.

Hannah couldn't remember the last time Sherlock had smiled since Christmas. Actually, she couldn't think of a single occasion. Not that he was someone who normally had a grin plastered onto their face, but still. It just wasn't normal, not even for someone in mourning.

"Now that you're inside, maybe help me with the books?" He looks to the brown cardboard with calculating eyes, before looking back up to her.

"Fine. But make it quick, I've cigarettes that aren't going to smoke themselves waiting for me on my coffee table." She shakes her head in exasperation, but he walks across the room to the box, crouching down to look at the selection.

"I see you've cultivated a sophisticated selection of books." She smiled uneasily.

"Uh... I like Rom-Coms."

"Of course you do." She frowns at the back of his head in slight annoyance at the sentence that was intertwined with a sigh, reminding her of Mycroft, but nevertheless reaches down to pick up a handful of books.

Sherlock helps her for two minutes, putting them into a wooden bookcase.

Suddenly, he wishes he hadn't helped her at all, wincing in pain and throwing the offending item back into the box.

There were pieces of her everywhere he went, in everyone he saw, in everything he did. The Consulting Detective even found it hard to pass a cafe that they had once frequented, because; _'they stir the hot chocolate for just the right amount of time, and the baristas always smile at me, Sherlock. Always!'_

_'Obviously. They wouldn't be very good at their jobs if they weren't friendly. They want a tip, that's all.'_

_'Or maybe I'm just their favourite customer.'_

_'And why would that be?'_

_'My good looks and charming manners, of course._'

"Sherlock? Sherlock?"

There was a hand waving in front of his face, and a pair of eyes, that suffered from Sectoral Heterochromia, causing them to change from blue to green in the given light, blink thrice back to life, unwillingly dragged back into the present.

"Sorry. Uh..." He looked around, realising where he was.

Something in his chest ached in agony, because he couldn't go back. He could never go back to that time where his face ached from grinning for too long, and he was starting to develop smile lines. It went without saying that those were now long, long gone.

"Mycroft told me you do that." Her small smile wasn't infectious, and it didn't reach him.

Hannah smiled too easily for it to mean anything to him, anyway. Or perhaps he was being too harsh.

"Oh." She almost whispered, picking up the book he had thrown down like _she _might have jumped away from a spider.

A ghost of a smile almost reaches his features at the memory, but the flame is put out before it can truly burn as he studies the book in her hands.

"A Tale Of Two Cities, by Charles Dickens." She smiles warmly, forming dimples on her innocent looking face. "Her favourite book." Sherlock stands up, his face completely blank. "She was so pretentious, wasn't she?" Hannah laughs, making him feel as if she had come for the sole purpose of rubbing salt into his wounds.

"That's her copy." He states.

"She left me it."

"Of course." Curiousity piques in him. "Is there any sort of message inside it?" The girl with wild hair sighs.

"No, Sherlock, no hidden message, no map leading to where she's hiding out, no sort of secret code, no nothing." She opens a random page. "It's just a book. Nothing more, nothing-"

At this, a rectangle of white paper slips out from between the worn out pages, and Sherlock's eyes widen, almost falling in the desperation to catch it before it falls to the wooden floor.

He grabs it in between his deathly thin index finger and thumb, and rises up, eager to read the message that he knew would be there.

Perhaps she was alive. Maybe everything she had said was a lie, and this was her way of letting him know, leading a trail to her, so that he could see her again, and she would speak again, and breathe and laugh and now that he knew his feelings weren't all that normal maybe-

His rising hopes crash to the floor, and are stepped on underneath the crushing black boot of cruel fate, along with his heart.

"A library stamp card." Hannah's soft, sympathetic voice. "She must've forgotten it was the library's and not hers." Sherlock studies it, and for some reason, gets a sensation of needles pricking his pupils, causing him to cover his face with a sprawling, pale hand, waiting for it to pass.

It didn't.

The detective drops the useless, loathsome card to the floor, and turns, abruptly pacing out of the room, as it floats innocently to the ground, in a feather-like fashion.

He didn't know where he was going, but he knew it would be; dirty, full of the lowest of the low, and most importantly, rife with drugs, and drug users.

**Ramona**

Mona was back dressed in exercise clothes, and was stretching outside the main door, currently pulling her left ankle to her bum and leaning forward slightly.

Even as it was beginning to darken, she had a desperate urge to run, and anyway, she had seen the level of security around the acres of grounds, and it was all still quite well lit with the dimming sun.

Tightening her ponytail, she began pacing down the staircase, and running across the neatly manicured grass, past the flowerbeds, eventually into the woods.

She smiled, in a sudden realisation that she just might be attracted to anything that could be minutely dangerous.

Having time alone with her mind was good, giving her time to think about all the life that she didn't have.

After a few minutes, she settles into a decent pace, and breaks out of the wooded area, finding that the sun was casting a bronze glow over the land she was running over.

She met with the lake, and ran around it, looking in the water and admiring the small ripples of water that the ducks made whenever they submerged their beaks and tipped themselves ninety degrees.

The only sounds that reached Mona were the sounds of birds all around her, as this became background noise to the sound of water being disturbed, the slight rustle of leaves in the light breeze, and her perfectly timed breathing.

Going back into the woodland, she ran completely blindly for five minutes, surprised at how long she could run for, her lungs feeling stronger than she had expected.

It didn't feel like she smoked at all, and Mona came to the conclusion that she must be a fairly clean cut person, not a lot of cigarettes or alcohol.

Again, she broke out of trees, and this time it was darker, the runner starting to have slight trouble with footing.

She briefly wondered if her past self would laugh at her thoughts of being a healthy person, and slowly, her thoughts started to drift to the voice she had heard.

If it had been just a dream, then why such random sentences?

Admittedly, she could barely remember the fleeting words that had been said, but could still hear, with vicious clarity, the baritone that wrapped around them.

Trying to reach answers, she realises that it sounded slightly like Sherrinford's voice.

Although, her husband's voice was even smoother than the one she had heard, and more refined, as if untouched by modern time's smothering, contaminated touch, transported from times of Queen Victoria, bustles, stiff upper lips, and fallen women.

Perhaps this voice was simply his, when he was younger. Her voice in it had also sounded slightly different to the one she heard when she spoke, and maybe-

Suddenly, she loses her footing, the ground crumbling under her expensive shoes.

Mona lets out a loud, sharp and shocked scream, as she tumbles down the rocky face, grabbing for some kind of support, as the sound of violent, crashing waves fill her mind.

Somehow, the girl finds a foothold in the white cliff face, and her hand is twisted behind her, submerged in a particularly strong patch of grass.

Her legs are shaking in terror, as she peers down at the sea she was facing, cold and brutal, but the most scary thing was the sharp rocks awaiting her, and she whimpers in pure fear, feeling the adrenaline filling her system.

"Fuck, oh fucking fuck fuck, I've run off a fucking cliff, what is this, some sort of fucking cartoon, what am I, the fucking road runner, wheres the fucking-"

"I should wash your mouth out for that, young lady."

Her eyes widen in shock, looking up, to see a strange angle of her husband, looming over her with an amused expression upon his features, hands in his suit pockets, pushing his suit jacket back slightly, to reveal a pristine white shirt and deep crimson tie.

"Thank god!"

"Have you no concept of gravity?" She lets out an uneasy, shaky laugh, which reverberates from her ribcage, making her foot slip slightly from the crumbling foothold. She winces.

"Uh, it would appear not, no." He laughs casually.

"Would you like some help, then?" She almost gets angry about his nonchalance, but brushes the feeling off, feeling slightly embarrassed, and very, very stupid.

"If it's at all convenient-" Her foot slips again, and she gives an involuntary scream. "Right now, please." He shrugs, crouching down and holding out a hand to her.

"Well, since you asked so nicely."

She quickly clasps onto his hand with her free hand, and he pulls her up to safety easily.

On feeling safe ground beneath her feet, she lets out a huge exhale of relief, screwing her eyes shut briefly.

"I really thought I was a goner." He laughs.

"Likewise, when I saw you run straight off a cliff, I couldn't help but jump to conclusions."

She looks around in confusion, to see a black jaguar parked around twenty feet away, on the tarmac of the drive.

Her face flushes slightly in embarrassment, wondering just how lost in her thoughts she could of been, that her subconscious let her do something so idiotic.

"I'm not going to be able to live this down, am I?" She looks from him to the sea, and sees a beautiful view of what appeared to be the English channel, and surprisingly, the coastline of France was visible, making her mouth part at the grandeur of it all.

He chuckles, hands back in his pockets, and turning to walk back to his car.

"I'll give you a lift back home. Wouldn't want you falling off any more cliffs." She starts to follow him. "Those rocks make for a _very _unsightly corpse."

At this, a chill runs through her, as if he had seen a dead persons body, one that had fallen from his cliff, and fallen onto his rocks. Perhaps he was joking.

"Take my word for it."Okay, maybe he was serious.

**Sherlock**

"Hey, you hear about that girl?" A scrawny man starts a conversation with his friend.

"Mate, there're a fair few a' girls round here. Just a bit vague." The huge man replies, standing at six foot five, with the strength of an ox.

Sherlock listens into the conversation, his eyes lifelessly staring forward into nothingness.

He sat at a bar in some dark, half empty wrong-side-of-the-tracks establishment, and as the ice in his whisky glass melted, he thought about the trivial fact that eyes would in fact 'turn off' if faced with nothing but the same picture for a few hours, he wondered if he would soon be seeing nothing but black.

"I mean about that that blonde one." His ears start to tune in. "Y'know, the fit one." The man rolled his eyes at his friend when he still couldn't say who he was talking about. "The one you said you'd... What were it, er... Oh, 'fuck until she passed out', I think."

"There are a lot of-" The ox begins.

Sherlock felt physically ill sitting so close to the man, who quite frankly, repulsed him. It was nothing about the way he looked, just how he talked, sat, and how he addressed the opposite sex.

"Oh," His 'oh', turns into a devious laugh, and he feels his stomach turning. The detective's face was hidden from view by the bad lighting, and he took this as an advantage. "Yeah, how could I forget her? Only saw her for a few minutes before she arrested me, but she's sommet else, in't she?"

Sherlock prayed to a god that he didn't believe in that they weren't talking about who he thought they were, that it was just his mind making illogical connections.

But it never did that.

"I'd prefer if she had darker 'air, though." The wisp of a man says, his runt-like nature leading Sherlock to believe he had the huge man around as more of a deterrent and body guard than an actual friend.

"You're well picky, you are." He takes a drink of his choice of poison. "If I had her, she'd never leave the house. She wouldn't be able to."

"Mate, that's a bit..."

"One 'ell of a bitch, though." The other man laughs bitterly. "Only time she's ever looked at me were when she was testifying against me. Got a year thanks to the evil cow."

"You did housebreak, though."

"Yeah, but still."

"Anyway... What were I saying?" He frowns, trying to piece together his two brain cells for a second to actually form a coherent sentence. "Oh, yeah. She's dead!"

This earns a harsh, disbelieving laugh from the other man.

"No! What?!" More laughing. "Serves her right!"

"Er... Bit 'arsh, don't you-"

"You know Pentonville sent a black wreath when she got shot?" Another laugh. "Every criminal in London must be laughing as we speak, my friend!"

"You shouldn't speak ill of the dead. My mum always used to say that."

"Come on, mate! She were a piece o' work, and you know it! You know, apparently she dumped 'er boyfriend when he moved away? Who does that? And then moved onto another, I saw 'im a few times actually, scary fucker, I'll tell you that for nothing. It's the northerners, they're another fucking breed!"

"Calm down-"

"She were a heartless, cold bitch, and I'll happily dance on 'er grave! She was hot, yeah, but fuck, from what I've heard she were nothing more that a- you know she were probably fucking that Sherlock Holmes as well, they _lived_ together, that lucky basta-"

Sherlock watches as his fist slams into the mans jaw, and hears a satisfying crunch as it impacts.

His victim falls to the floor, shocked and holding his jaw, moving it around to see if it was broken. The infuriated detective stands over him with a look that could burn right through obsidian, and suddenly, the man's face changes to outraged.

"Get up." Sherlock's voice is cold, but at the same time, the flames of malice run through it, chilling everyone who heard it to the bone.

He wondered briefly if he had ever been this angry, and came up with a resounding 'no'.

The man quickly scrambles to get to his feet, and every person in the bar turns to watch, but keeps the facade of minding their own business.

"What the- Sherlock Holmes?!"

"That lucky bastard." He replies, shaking his arms out slightly, ready for a fight.

Before he can really register anything, he's been hit in the face with a haymaker, one that sent him stumbling back, reeling slightly, instantly tasting blood.

Sherlock now realises just how huge he was. He was surprised the man didn't have a bull ring, he resembled one so much.

The bull comes forward with a punch that could have done damage, but Sherlock has already thought out the entirety of the fight.

Everything seems to slow for a second, and then, he knows exactly what to do.

He quickly counters the jab, moving sideways slightly, and throws a punch to the left side of his face with his right fist, then bringing his other round to his right ear, confusing the man momentarily and producing a ringing in his ears that disorientated him.

In a daze, the man suddenly throws round another confused haymaker, swinging for the side of his torso. Sherlock blocks this with his elbow, and his right fist collides with the mans body, cracking what he deduced to be three ribs.

The man retorts with an attempted punch from his left, which he easily blocks, and brings up his elbow to smash into the right side of his jaw, hearing another crunch that was nothing but music to his ears.

His opponent grunts out in pain and stumbles back slightly, allowing him fracture his jaw with a punch from the other side, and with this, breaks the man's already-cracked ribs.

Not giving him time to think, he dislocates the larger mans jaw.

Finally, he gives a powerful kick to the mans diaphragm, and with this, he flies through the bar, breaking the wood with the force of the almost inhuman kick and his weight, and what sounded like hundreds of glasses and bottles shattering under his weight.

This rendered the man on the brink of unconsciousness, but Sherlock still wasn't satisfied.

The detective paces over to him, but is suddenly stopped. He turns around, to see two men holding his arms behind his back.

He instantly starts to writhe violently like an wild colt caught in a lasso, ready to beat the man into a coma, his vision completely scarlet with rage.

"LET GO OF ME!" Sherlock roars, at a level of unhinged he had never felt before.

The mix of adrenaline from the fight, the anger and the pure thrill of seeing his body collide with the bar took him off his calm demeanor, changing him into a person he had never been before.

"How's he this strong?!"

He pulls his tensed arms free from their hold, and using his now free hands, without turning around finds their pressure points, making them both collapse to the floor, as if blow-up people being pricked with a pin.

As he goes over to the now cowering man, his hands ready to cover a throat and squeeze, the door bursts open.

"We've got him, sir."

A policeman.

He practically snarls at them, as two more enter, and the blue and red lights of the cars hit his face every half second from through the open door.

"Hands up!"

Sherlock's heart slowly stops pounding so fast, and he comes back to his senses. Eyes the colour of an overcast sky widen, and he steps back, putting his hands where they could see them.

What was that? Why had he done that?

His face is one full of shock, and slight shame, and he is shoved against what remains of the bar, the policewoman's voice muffled by thunderbolts of bewilderment running through him.

It had emotionally gotten to him like nothing else ever had.

What was wrong with him? Why couldn't he return to himself?

"-But it may harm your defence if you do not mention when questioned something you later rely on in court. Anything you do say may be given in evidence."

He feels his hands being roughly pushed together at his back, and hears the roll and click of the steel handcuffs around his wrists being closed so tightly it hurt.

**Ramona**

Mona looks nervously to Sherrinford, who eats with what looks to be no care in the world.

_What do I talk about? What do we normally discuss? _

She hardly thought the weather to be an option.

"Listen..." She sighs, deciding it was time for that talk. He sets down his cutlery with the poise and refinement of a Victorian gentleman, and looks up to her politely.

They both sit at a table in the dining room, which was decorated like the rest of the house, a period charm that seemed to have stepped straight out of the 1800's, huge, flashy, and definitely unneeded.

"I'm listening." He gives her an encouraging smile, only making her feel worse.

"I know that you must..." She decides to spit it out. "I know that you must be upset, because you've basically lost your wife, and now someone else is walking around in her body, but I want to tell you that if you don't want to still be married to me, then we can get a divorce. I won't protest."

He seems to have registered this before she actually said it, unnerving her slightly, as she fiddled with her hands in her lap.

"I have no intention of a divorce, darling."

"But... I'm not the same person anymore."

"No," He shrugs in an allowing sense. "Perhaps not. However, you are still my wife, and I still your husband, and I hope to get to know this new you that I have been presented with." A small smile spreads lights up her troubled expression, now having two reasons why she married him. The first, of course, was his appearance, and infallible manners.

"I'll try to get a sense of who I was."

"Simply acting how you feel is appropriate will suffice. It'll come back to you eventually, I have no doubt." For some reason, she felt very safe with him, but at the same time, very endangered.

Mona nods slowly, desperately wishing that tomorrow morning, she would wake up with her memories.

"I see you've been exercising vigorously today."

"Yeah," She recalls the sparring session with Sebastian, and bites back an amused grin. "Running gives me a little time to think."

"Well, I recommend on continuing that little habit of yours," He winks at her. "Maybe not as close to the cliff edge, though."

"Why?"

"Well, we're attending a function this weekend, and I really would love for everyone to see you well again, they're all so awfully worried, you see." Mona decides that she'd probably never get over how nice he was. How could she ever cheat on this man? He had never said anything about her eye, or made any snide comments, or made her feel uneasy, unworthy or unlikely to succeed.

"A function? What sort of function?" There she was again, asking questions.

"A ball, love." She raised a brow. So they were the type to attend balls? "A masquerade ball, to be precise."

Something spiked excitement inside her, at the thought of a huge hall full of people in sweeping dresses and sharp tuxedos, all waltzing, in mysterious, exquisite masks covering their faces.

"And all of the most important people are going to be there," His sea coloured eyes glitter with excitement briefly. "So it really would be advantageous to have you looking your best."

**Sherlock**

Sherlock's bail had been paid, but for now, he was charged with three counts of battery, aggravated assault, and one of criminal damage.

He made his way from the police car, crossing the pavement and into 221B, pushing the straightened out knocker to one side, cursing under his breath, and wondering if he could just turn heel and spend the night somewhere he wasn't about to be lectured.

However, his legs kept carrying his body, that now felt heavy with fatigue, as he walks up the stairs, and sighing, steeling himself, opens the door.

He's slightly startled, to find John, Hannah, and Mycroft all sitting around the now clean flat, in both senses of the word.

"Oh, are we having an intervention?" No one seems impressed with his deductive skill (although it wasn't a huge leap) as he walked over to face them all, his expression stony.

"A fight." John starts quietly. "A fight!" The accused detective rolls his eyes.

"Yes, what about it?"

"Do not get clever with me, Sherlock. Don't you dare. Because _this,_" He gestures around him. "Is not funny."

"I never said it was."

John gritted his teeth, and for a moment, Sherlock thought he might have to dodge a punch.

"Getting angry won't help things, John", Mycroft pipes up, and The Detective moves his gaze begrudgingly over to his brother, as he moves closer. "I learned that the hard way."

"Oh, it must have been _so_ hard for you." Sherlock chides, knowing exactly how to get to his brother.

"To summarize; a broken jaw, three cracked ribs, four broken, and a hemorrhaging diaphragm." Sherlock smirks slightly, to add to the infuriated mood of everyone else in the room.

"They're talking about sending you to jail, Sherlock!" Hannah joins in, and Sherlock begins to feel thoroughly ganged-up on.

"One to seven years, for everything you've done." The Good Doctor adds.

"This isn't something I can make go away, brother mine." The last words are venomous, and suddenly, Sherlock snaps, not liking one but how his brother was trying to scare him.

Before he realises what he's doing, he's got Mycroft against the wall violently, pulling up his wrist in between his shoulder blades. His umbrella clatters to the floor, and John recognizes the scene.

"Sherlock!" Hannah cries, but doesn't move to pull him away.

"Really, Mycroft, really? You can't make it go away?" He hisses, as The British Government jostles against him, only to have the stronger man push him back against the wall. "You seem well versed on making everything else go away, so why not this?"

His brother instantly realises what he was talking about, and stops protesting.

John gives Sherlock a look, and he pulls away, turning to walk away slightly, before whipping back around.

"I think you should all leave."

"Sherlock, you need help." John's voice is sincere. "You're ill, you need to go somewhere you can't get to drugs." His mouth falls open in outrage, and he shoots his eyes towards Hannah, who looks away in guilt.

"I don't believe this."

"Rehab is a good thing. You can get clean, and then, we can investigate Moriarty." He scoffs with a roll of his eyes.

"That was clearly a hoax, John." He throws a hand towards the television. "Come on, a five minute repeating clip of an animated blast from the past? Some sort of cyber prank or something. He's dead."

"Don't try to change the subject. You're going to rehab, and that's final."

"Well I decline." Sherlock looks away briefly.

"Mycroft, can't he go somewhere a bit more familiar? Like your parents', maybe?" John asks.

"No, that can't happen." He replies quickly, as he leans down to pick up the umbrella. "Seeing him like this... It would break their hearts." Sherlock winces slightly as a streak of guilt runs through him.

"I'm not going, and that's the end of it." The three exchange an apprehensive look. "You moved her in to keep an eye on me, didn't you? I'm willing to compromise on that, if it helps you sleep at night."

The intruders study him for ten seconds.

"He's not budging, I can tell." John states.

"Mm." Mycroft hums in agreement, still obviously in thought. "Fine." The man surveys him, before turning to the door. "I expect to see improvements, Sherlock." At this, he swallows. "I won't be so merciful next time."

With this, he leaves, leaving him with John and Hannah.

"I can't believe you beat someone half to death in that grimy bar." The small man's scandalized tone exasperates, and exhausts Sherlock.

"Baritsu mixed with French Boxing. Quite simple, actually."

"I don't mean-" He sniffs with anger. "You never lose your cool, Sherlock. Never. What happened?" The Detective's face sets to a thunderous expression.

"They were talking about her." He states quietly. John's brow creases, sighing briefly.

"Do you have names?" Hannah interjects, and they both turn to her, slightly shocked with the underlying tone of death in her sugarcoated voice. She smiles happily. "I've got a few connections."

Sherlock stares at her, before turning away.

"No."

There's a brief moment of silence. He looks around, knowing what would fill the silence. Knowing who would fill it so perfectly, with something that made so much and so little sense at the same time, share a look with him like they were in a sitcom, or do something clumsy or stupid. She might laugh at him, or go after who was talking about her, or maybe she'd scowl and be angry in an adorable way, or perhaps she'd be upset, or go to the newspaper to make sure the story never made it to press, or-

"Sherlock." John's voice snaps him out of his agonizing train of thought.

The clarity in his sharp eyes return, and he looks between the two, before going to sit on his chair, with a huff.

"You're still here?" Their faces become worried at this sentence.

"...Yes." He raised his eyebrows momentarily to show that he had acknowledged this.

The two share a look, as if to say 'I don't know how to get through to him'.

In an attempt to push them out of the flat, Sherlock placed a cigarette between his fingers, pulling a lighter out of his pocket and, with two attempts, lighting it, dragging an inhale.

He notices the two staring at him, in shock and anger, and Sherlock simply turns his cold gaze towards them, releasing the smoke.

"Am I starting to bore you yet?" There's a small silence, in which he can almost feel the waves of rage radiating from the two.

"Oh my god!" The shouting almost makes him flinch, as he realises he's pushed John too far.

Hannah simply shakes her head, furious hot tears brimming.

"Don't let her die in vain, don't you bloody dare!" Sherlock's eyes widen, and Hannah whips round to watch John, realising he had pushed The Detective's biggest berserk button.

"I'm warning you-"

"No, I'm warning _you, _Sherlock!"

The world's greatest detective stands up.

"She sacrificed herself for you- for all of us! And for what?! So that you can slowly kill yourself, ruin your reputation, and waste your life?!" John paces towards Sherlock, who had a tensed jaw, and pointed a finger. "You, are being ungrateful and self-absorbed, and wallowing in self pity, whilst she's not even cold in her grave!"

At this, Sherlock's hand flies to hit the person he never thought he would, but John grabs his wrist.

"I know that this is hard for you. It must be unimaginable, and I couldn't comprehend it for a second." Sherlock frowned down at him, hoping he would stop. "It must be agony, you must think that all of this is just part of the healing process." John's eyes were earnest. "But you have to help yourself, or we can't." His voice grows quieter. "It's what she would want, Sherlock."

"You don't have any idea." The taller man begins,through gritted teeth, dropping the cigarette into a glass of water on the table. "How much I-" He huffs painfully, "-I just want to feel like myself again, John."

He notices that his only alive best friend's eyes are starting to mist over, as he opens his mouth to speak.

Suddenly, there's Mrs Hudson's infamous 'yoo-hoo!' at the door, and the three turn to see what it was.

"Hello, dears."

"What is it?" John asks, but Sherlock had already noticed the white envelope in her hand.

"Your post, Sherlock." An annoyed frown plasters across his features, as he approaches the landlady.

"I'm lawfully dead, since when do I get post?"

"You were made alive again, you always get post." John remarks, confused as to how he had survived without having gotten post for a year. Sherlock takes the envelope from her hands, surveying it.

"Hmm. Hand delivered with leather gloves. There's no oil residue from fingertips..." Without a further thought, he rips it open, and pulls out the square piece of paper from inside, that fit perfectly inside the envelope.

Sherlock holds it up to his analytical gaze, skimming through the contents.

"custom-made paper, hand-printed, embossed and imprinted names..." John and Hannah share a look, before making their way to Sherlock. "Heavyweight ecru card with gold foil accents."

"Sorry, does that actually tell us anything?"

"Someone's trying to show off."

"What's that?" Hannah asks, not being able to see.

"An invitation." A small smirk grows on Sherlock's face, shocking both of the accomplices.

* * *

**I'm so sorry about the angst haha**

**Pretty sure you can guess what the invitation is for, are you liking the way it's going so far? **

**Thank ya for reading :) Reviews are always, always loved, appreciated and replied to!**


	55. Thnks Fr Th Mmrs

**Thnks Fr Th Mmrs - Fall Out Boy**

**I own nothing but the OC!**

**This was edited by my amazing proofreader :)**

* * *

"An invitation? To where?" Hannah's height made it impossible for her to read.

**Sherlock Holmes, Plus one**

**You are formally invited to the Bal Masqué, in honour of friends once lost****, but no more so****.**

The invitation featured a time, date, and location.

_Friends once lost__, but no more so.__.._

Sherlock's eyes widen slightly, on the realization that the address was a huge, historical mansion in France, one that was famed in history for holding the first french masquerade balls for the aristocracy of the renaissance.

And then, he almost drops it, as he flips it in his hand, and reads the handwritten sentence written neatly at the centre.

**Come and play. X**

"Moriarty."

Sherlock is frozen as Hannah and John's jaws drops.

"This... It can't..." His eyes narrow at the words, shaking his head slightly.

_"Get to it, then." _Ramona's voice fills his mind. _"We don't have time to dawdle, Sherlock."_

He snaps out of his surprised trance and produces his phone, putting it to his ear.

"He's alive." The shorter two of the trio share a shocked look.

"B-but you said-" Hannah starts.

"I know what I said." He waits for the beeps, and then, the pick up.

Sherlock swallows, knowing he was pushing his luck, turning on his fake human voice.

"Hi, Janine, it's me, Sher-" At this, the phone clicks off. Sherlock brings his phone away from his ear, staring down at it in annoyance with a grim expression. "Oh, now that's just rude."

* * *

**Ramona**

"Okay, now take the handbrake off. Good. No, n-" Mona sat at the wheel of an exotic car, learning to drive in the most overpowered beast of a thing she had ever come across.

The directions came from an international crime kingpin of ultimate authority.

"No, put it ba- Stop!" She puts the handbrake back on, looking to him with the expression of a kicked puppy.

"I can't drive. Can we just leave it at that, Jim?"

"No way. You're learning, and I'm teaching you. Now let's try that again."

She exhales deeply, and takes her hand down to the handbrake, slowly.

The Ferrari sat on a private racetrack in France, and Mona couldn't help as to wonder as to how much money they actually had.

"I taught you french in under an hour, so how hard can this be?"

"You reminded me." He shrugs.

"Same thing."Jim grins as Ramona shakes her head in mock exasperation.

She looks forward out of the reinforced, bulletproof glass, knowing that she would definitely crash the epitome of a beautiful car.

"Alright, clutch to the floor," She pressed down her foot. "And move to first gear." Her right hand moves out to the centre of the car. They had decided on a left handed car, since she used that hand more. "Okay?"

"Yeah, I'm fine." Actually, she was worried that she might kill both of them.

"_Slowly_ this time- take your foot from the clutch until you hear the engine speed begin to drop, then push back on it." Mona does as instructed, hearing the venomous roar of the car instantly, her face lighting up in excitement. "That's the friction point. Do it a few more times, to get a feel for it." She nods.

"This is where it gets mildly complicated. Release the clutch too quickly and you'll stall. If it sounds like it'll stall then hold the clutch where it is or push it even further."

"Can we get to the part where we go fast?" Mona was half mocking him for his juvenile instructions given to the female genius, and half being deadly serious.

"Lift your foot slightly from the clutch, and start with a small tap on the accelerator."

Doing exactly this, her slip on black shoes touch the accelerator, and the car lurches forward all of a sudden. Panicking, she pulls her feet away, stalling the car. Mona presses her lips together, a mix of amusement and slight fear that Jim would shout.

But when she looked over, he was sitting there, in one of those pristine Westwoods, trying to hide a laugh, looking out of the window with a hand over his mouth, shoulders shaking.

This quickly caught on, and before she knew it, she too was laughing.

"Can I try that again?"

"Go for it."

Doing it again, this time she's gentler with the overpowered Supercar, and it drifts forward.

"Good."

Her tight grip on the black leather of the steering wheel begins to relax slightly, starting to get a sense of what the car was capable of.

"Slowly speed up, and wait for the shift light-" Her eyes flicker down to the various -ometers, and sees the small box flash, as an indication. "Move into second gear." His voice got higher pitched at the end of the sentence, as if bracing for a crash.

Mona rolled her eyes, and moved the gearstick down, feeling confident.

"Keep on the gas, and release the clutch completely." Doing this, it suddenly feels as if she is in complete control of the low, classic scarlet stallion. "Don't rest your foot on the clutch pedal, it's a bad habit."

"Is that it?"

"For setting off, yeah."

"Piece of cake."

"Oh, you think so?" His musical lilt was challenging, and it earned a playful grin from Mona.

She sped up to about sixty suddenly, changing gear quickly, heart starting to pound in her chest, the sensation almost giving her butterflies, before giving an emergency stop and turning the car to the side slightly, so that it skidded sideways across the pristine grey tarmac.

"Yeah, I think so." She could tell Jim was fighting between a smile and a disapproving look, ending up shaking his head at her with a pursed mouth and laughing eyes.

"This car's technically not out yet, and you've just damaged the twenty thousand pounds each tyre. Plus, it was a gift from your husband." Her expression starts to fall. "Not the most grateful of trophy wives, are we?" His tone was playful, and she gave a grin that showed she wasn't angry, thumping him on the shoulder briefly with a laugh.

"What a positively _disgusting _way to talk to your little sister! Where's the mutual sibling respect?"

_Oh, yeah, just have a bit more banter with the homicidal lunatic, why don't you? _

Jim laughs happily, and for the first time, Mona actually feels as if she could fit in this scene. After all, she had no trouble fighting, she made the important people laugh, and she was related either by blood or marriage to the two most dangerous men on the planet.

"What do you think of the car, then?" Her finger absentmindedly roamed over the glass top of the gearstick lovingly, already having bonded with the machine.

Suddenly, a rush of information in brought to her mind, about engines, suspension, gears and different types of vehicle paint that gave different shades of black meticulously ordered.

Learning that she was skilled in mechanics and the deepest inner workings of engines, she now felt confident that she could take this car apart and put it back together perfectly, if required.

_Not that it ever will be, but it's good for my ego. Or bad._

* * *

**Sherlock**

"Say 'Ahh!' "

Sherlock stares down at Hannah, briefly wondering if she had gone mad, holding out a small cardboard strip pinched in between her index and thumb.

"I'm clean."

"Say. Ahh." Sherlock opened his mouth to deliver a quick quip, and she quickly shoved it into his mouth. "So when's Janine coming round?" His eyes widen slightly, as she pulls it out from in between his teeth and into a small plastic box. Sherlock leans back against the kitchen counter.

"How'd you know that?"

"Well-" It was a well known fact to Sherlock that the tiny box would turn blue if his saliva contained traces of any sort of drug. She picks up the plastic, and after studying it, shows it to him, with a grin, her curly hair bouncing slightly. "You're clean! Well done, Sherlock."

He rolls his eyes at the genuine, yet extremely patronising encouragement.

"Tonight." Hannah nods, starting to tidy away something or other. "I told the truth like you said, fully explained the situation, and she said she wanted to help." The girl gasps dramatically all of a sudden, looking up.

"Can I trust you to hold the fort for ten minutes? I need to go to Tesco, I forgot the eggs." He frowns momentarily, and then remembered that Hannah was in fact a dedicated and skilled baker.

"I'll be fine, Hannah." She nods quickly, and rushes out of the flat, leaving Sherlock by himself.

Looking around, he was slightly happy about how clean and bright the flat was looking thanks to Hannah, although admittedly, his skin was beginning to tingle with that all too familiar itch for another hit. Ignoring it, he walks into the middle of the living room, and his eyes rest on the dusty violin.

He hadn't been able to play a single note since...since then_**.**_ Sherlock couldn't even play sad songs, he couldn't bear the feeling of it, as if lethargic to everything that once brought him solace from his overcrowded and loud mind.

Sherlock sighs softly to himself, the ache in his chest now a permanent fixture that he had accepted would always be there. Admittedly, he had had a lot of thoughts about joining her, but found that he couldn't leave the world to Moriarty, not in his more than capable hands. Perhaps after, but for now, he had to get over himself, he had to get over the most traumatic thing that had ever happened to him.

And he couldn't do that to her, after all that she'd done for him..though she'd fooled him into... "_Shut up." _

The voice in his head seemed to say that a lot these days.

* * *

_"Finally, I'm home!" He instantly recognises the painfully beautiful voice, and finds himself __sitting__ at a kitchen dining table. _

_Looking around, Sherlock was standing_ _in a sunny rectangular garden, the grass a deep, full green, with a border of flowers surrounding it, and creepers climbing up the walls of the house he was facing. _

_Suddenly, Ramona appears at the open modern glass doors, dressed in a power suit and heels, putting down a leather bag and outstretching her arms to him with a grin displaying those perfect teeth, golden hair in a ponytail practically sparking in the warm sunlight. _

_"How are my boys?"_

_Without thinking about anything else, he paces over to her, and wraps his arms tightly around Ramona, briefly pressing his lips to the top of her head. _

_Realising what he'd just done, he froze. What on God's green Earth had just happened?_

_"Someone's in a good mood." She remarks, adding to his confusion. _

_"Where- where are we?" Ramona frowns, looking puzzled but amused._

_"A ridiculously overpriced house in London that we bought after we got married? You know, that huge lifestyle change thing?" His eyes widen, and she simply laughs. _

_Looking around, her expression brightens even more, crouching down and stretching her arms out wider, as a toddler with black hair runs towards her, almost knocking her over with the force. _

_"Mummy!" Sherlock could only stare in awe, completely forgetting everything but the Utopian scene. _

_"Hamish. How's Daddy been?" She pulls back out of the hug and brushes the boys hair out of his face, grinning at him. "He's not been naughty, has he?" The boy turns to the stunned man. _

_"Naughty Daddy!" His mouth falls open, and then, his expression softens, smiling and crouching next to her. _

_"Really? I reckon I've been quite good, actually." He reasons. _

_"No dead bodies?" She murmurs, and he stifles a chuckle. _

_"No dead bodies." Sherlock confirms._

_"Well," Ramona stands up, ruffling Hamish's hair. "I've had a ridiculous time at work__ today__," She turns to the boy. "Go get your homework and mummy and daddy__ wi__ll help out." He pouts, but then, sprints away, leaving them alone together._

_All he can really do is feel his heart jump with her every movement, wondering when his limited reserve of time with her would run out. _

_She turns and walks inside, towards the kitchen, and Sherlock follows._

_"Good day? No nightmares?" He smiles gently, knowing she was refer__r__ing to his son. Their son._

_"No. A really good dream." She turns to him with a gentle and happy smile, sighing as she pulled out her ponytail and ran a hand through her hair._

_Her hand reaches up to the side of his face, and she leans in closer, and he realises he can literally feel the warmth of her hand, and he can feel her lips against his. He closes his eyes, Sherlock's arms wrapping around her waist. _

_Ramona pulls back, breaking the moment of bliss, and stares up at him. _

_"Sherlock, I-"_

* * *

The Consulting Detective opens his eyes, wrapped in a tangle of sheets, the light starting to flood inside of the unfamiliar room.

Coming to his senses, he screws his eyes shut and throws his hands to his face in pain, wondering when it would get easier.

Sherlock could have sworn he felt lips on his, he could feel her body against his so vividly, but now all he could feel was the happiness draining from him, leaving him empty again.

Back when she had been alive he had still dreamt of her, sometimes as innocently as could be, other times...Ahem...Not so innocently.

He had ignored them, just like always. But now, it was a bit harder, especially seeing something that he could have had, had he just gone and saved her, had she been truthful, had they been two different people, perhaps he just may have had that, and they both could have had a chance at redemption, but unfortunately, the world just didn't work like that.

"_The world isn't a wish granting factory, Sherlock. Haven't you read John Green?" _Ramona's familiar voice, still full of the female clarity that it had always possessed, even in death. He didn't have to rack his brain to know what she would have said after that. _"I wouldn't really recommend it, to be honest. A brilliant writer and there's loads of nice imagery with good characterization, but no matter how romantic someone says it is, kissing in the Anne Frank Museum is just disrespectful. And who calls their kid Augustus?!"_

Surveying his surroundings, the French hotel room featured an excellent view of the Eiffel Tower, although he couldn't seem to appreciate view much.

Then, he heard the sound that had awoken him again, looking over to the door opposite him.

"Come in." He shouted slightly, covering himself with the sheets.

"It's really not a good idea to leave your door unlocked, Sherl." At this, he laughs slightly.

"What's the worst thing someone can do to me? Kill me?" He gives another tired laugh, and she purses her lips disapprovingly.

"Come on, we've places to be." His brow creases.

"What? The ball's not starting till nine, and we're not arriving until ten."

"Oh, I know, but there are a lot of places I want to go in Paris, and I want you to pay for me." He sighs, looking away briefly.

"Will you ever get enough revenge?"

"As I said, I'm gonna need little top-ups now and then." He pinches the bridge of his nose, and then, inhales sharply.

"Give me twenty minutes, and we'll go to the Eiffel Tower, or something generic."

She smiles like a kid on Christmas.

"Just what I wanted to hear. I'll go and have breakfast, don't fall back asleep." With this, she exits the room, leaving him by himself.

Getting a shower and ready, he admitted to himself that he was slightly excited for the masquerade ball. Of course, wishful thinking and intrusive thoughts seemed to scream to him that she would be there, waiting for him, but he pushed the illogical notions aside.

Maybe taking Janine to a city nicknamed and infamous for it's effect on 'love' wasn't the brightest idea, but it was the only option he had. Besides, he liked Janine as a friend, she was funny and fractionally clever, although way too easy to manipulate. But he wasn't doing that to her anymore, as they had decided.

He did the last button of the white shirt, and ruffled his hair in the white oval mirror, giving one last check over, before pulling on his coat, and going to locate Janine.

The clock struck eight o'clock as Sherlock walked over to the tuxedo that he was due to wear, eyeing it warily. He knew that Moriarty would be there, or at least, his people would be, and he had brought John's gun with him in case it came down to it.

Getting _that _past customs had been the only excuse of a challenge he had faced yet. That had been so easy, he could feel his brain rotting away.

He was in desperate need of a 'nice little case', as Miss Hudson so eloquently put it.

* * *

**Ramona **

She took a deep breath, as an eyebrow hair was yanked from her face with an expert hand.

This produced a howl of pain from her, eyes watering.

"Don't worry honey, that's the last of it. You've got lovely eyebrows, I just needed to neaten them up a bit." She looked in the mirror, someone else yet again staring back at her. She smiles.

"Thank you."

"Now for your hair and makeup, and you should be ready within the hour." She nodded, as a woman took her left hand, inspecting her cuticles.

After the process, she was finally done, her bum admittedly starting to ache from sitting in one position for so long.

But as she studied herself in the mirror, Mona realized that it had all been worth it, and she had to admit, it was the best she had ever looked, the best she ever _remembered_ looking.

She concluded that the beauticians were in fact wizards and had worked a miracle upon her, her skin now completely flawless, her eyelashes thicker and longer, her large eyes, one blue and one silver, brought out even more with expertly winged eyeliner, and she made a note to learn how to do them. Her hair cascaded in soft waves over long pearl earrings, echoing various femme fatales of the 20's, side parted.

As Mona stood up, they took away her robe that she had been wearing over her outfit which was, put quite simply, beautiful.

Her necklace was small to be visible in her dress, with a simple yet expensive engraved silver empty locket hung from it, worth more than most people made in a year. For a moment, she likened it to a bejeweled animal collar, but quickly dismissed the stupid thought. The single silver bracelet around her wrist was amassed with small diamonds, and her mind made the connection between it and handcuffs, and she almost shook her head at the illogical assumption.

The dress was exquisite, handmade in France for this occasion especially. It was a blend of silver and grey, and had a fitted lace bodice with small pearls embellished on the lace patterns that featured on the otherwise see through material, covering her modestly. It had an cut out oval open back, and then, as it hit her waist, the bodice disappeared into a V shape, and the chiffon layered skirt flowed out and onto the floor and had a slight trail, with a slit up the thigh, meaning her left leg up to the middle of her thigh and her expensive four inch heels were revealed every time she walked.

It was a stupid and narcissistic thought, but she really did feel like a queen, about to greet her subjects.

"What do you think?" The woman brings her out of her egotistical train of thought, and she smiled at her.

"This is probably the best I've ever looked, it's wonderful." The woman shakes her head, opening a case on the dressing table, and passing it to Anna, who had been watching.

"Your mask, Mi-" She gave her a look. "M-Mona." She finally spat it out, and Mona laughed at her expression.

"Thanks, Anna." She looked into the girl's erudite eyes as she took the delicate metal of the mask, and the woman held her hair up, as the ribbon was tied at the back of her head, letting her hair fall again to cover the strap.

Strangely, the mask hid her normal, blue eye, and instead displayed its silver counterpart, although she was starting to like it.

Under her uncovered eye hung three delicate silver chains, latched on from the side of the metal on her nose and to the ribbon. On the covered side the metal had an almost lace effect, was delicate and curved artistically, and the eye part, that was fully black metal with no spaces was drawn out and pointed like the winged eyeliner, and it pointed down to the middle of her cheek. In between her eyebrows there were diamonds set in it, and she wondered just how much money it had been at the expense of one night.

"Ready?"

"Is it time already?" She was starting to grow nervous, hearing the sounds of the orchestra drift up through the French mansion, all the way from the hall to upstairs.

"Yes, people will be expecting the guest of honour's entrance anytime soon." She nods almost dutifully, taking a final look at herself, before following Anna out of the room.

* * *

**Sherlock**

"And then the barman said; can I push your stool?" At this, the circle of masked criminal aristocracy erupted into laughter at the side of the busy dance floor.

Janine had gone to the toilet, and Sherlock was trying to work out who was who, and more importantly, who was Moriarty. He had taken advantage of the masquerade, and worn a mask that was symmetrical, silver metal, and had clearly taken inspiration from Roman gladiators, covering only the area around his eyes that most people wore, but being extremely effective, nonetheless.

It was also advantageous that no one was allowed to ask for names, they instead had to guess. It was fair to say that he would definitely not be figured out anytime soon, as he would most probably be killed.

He found himself looking around for the short, insane Irishman, and to no prevail. Perhaps this was instead to showcase what he was capable of, what he had amassed, and who he had added to his growing web as he weaved it around the earth.

The people were anything, from assassins to sophisticated serial killers, mafia bosses to businessmen, corrupt politicians to blackmailers to bank robbers.

Surprisingly they mingled well, and the opulent hall was filled with noisy chatter and the sounds of an orchestra playing a cheerful waltz, as uncountable couples danced in perfect synchronization with each other, all in tuxedos and ballgowns.

Suddenly, the noise slows to a halt, and everyone's eyes simultaneously turn to the marble staircase, the room stilling to complete silence.

Sherlock frowns, and follows the people's gazes.

His mouth drops open, his heart leaping in his chest, butterflies stirring in his stomach.

It couldn't be.

He swallows, gaping, as the woman elegantly makes her way down the stairs, her left leg appearing with every step it took.

It was impossible.

Chills run through Sherlock, and the colour completely drains from his face.

She was the personification of beauty, as she reached the bottom step, and everyone was still watching.

But then again, she was also dead.

Sherlock blinks thrice in surprise, wondering if she would disappear if he looked away for a second.

But it could... If it was...

She smiled.

"Please, don't stop on my account." That voice belonged to one person, and one person only.

_Ramona._

* * *

**This was so painful to write that dream was just :'(**

**When Jim Moriarty teaches you to drive tho**

**Thanks for reading :) Reviews are the sure way to my heart, apart from in between my third and fourth rib!**


	56. Danse Macabre

**Danse Macabre in G minor - Camille Saint-Saens**

**Unfortuanately I don't own Sherlock :(**

**The song that they're waltzing to is the song above, I suggest you listen to it, cos it gives quite an atmospheric feeling once it gets started **

* * *

Mona thankfully reaches the bottom of the stairs without tripping on her own dress, and meeting Sherrinford, as he takes her hand in his.

"Please, don't stop on my account." She says, to the silently stunned room.

The orchestra starts back up again, and the dancing begins, along with the chatter.

"You look magnificent, darling." He tells her, and she smiles.

Sherrinford wore a full face mask, his metal masquerade piece leading down from the nose instead of up, making him almost unrecognisable to her.

"I would say the same, but I can't really see you." Mona laughs. "I'm sure you look handsome, though." At this, he smiles warmly down at her. She looks around briefly, and frowns lightly. "Where's my brother?"

"Jim is attending to some business in the parlour. A deal involving previously missing original Da Vinci sketches. I think they'd be an excellent addition to the drawing room, don't you?" Her mouth parted, still not accustomed to the ridiculous amount of wealth. "I'm to join him in a few minutes to make sure it goes smoothly."

She nods.

"Let me introduce you to some people." He guides her to a circle of men and women, and they instantly turn to make space for them both in the ring.

"Remember, no names, everyone." He reminds them all, and they all nod, almost dutifully. "However, I think you can guess her name, can't you?"

"Mona, if I'm not mistaken." A tall woman in a black mask offers, and Sherrinford smiles.

"Correct."

"Oh dear, we've been so worried!" Mona gives a politely indifferent smile, unsure what to say.

However, this cleared up the whole 'is he actually my husband' scenario, as there was no way someone could control a huge room, full to the brink with the most important and most dangerous people on the planet, from all corners of the globe, and get them all to lie through their teeth to her.

No one could make them do that. There just wasn't anyone that powerful.

"When you got that concussion I truly feared for the worst." A man piped up, his olive skin and accent indicating he was Spanish.

"Well, I'm perfectly intact now, apart from my memory." Her silver eye gazed out onto all of them, studying each and every one.

Sherrinford leans down to murmur into her ear suddenly, his hands clasped behind his back.

"I must go to that deal now, but have a good time, sweetheart." His voice dropped to an almost inaudible tone, even for her, and he covered his mouth with his hand. "All of these people are your subordinates, don't be intimidated. They serve and answer to Sherrinford Holmes before anyone else." Her eyes widen, as she recognises at least twenty members of royalty from different countries. "Now giggle and act like I've said something innapropriate."

She does as instructed, and he smiles, straightening back up, saying goodbye, putting his hands in his pockets and leaving.

"So, I hear that you've bought a private island? What are your thoughts on it so far? We were thinking about getting one, but Sarah wasn't keen on the idea." And just like that, small talk between the most ridiculous people ensued, and she found herself already being bored.

Mona suddenly didn't know why she had been so excited.

The dressing up had been fun, but she didn't like dancing, and she hated chatting like this, for hours on end, especially among people who wouldn't be truthful to her in any question she asked anyway, seeing as they would want to suck up to her in order to curry favour with the seemingly infamous Holmes and Moriarty partnership.

Her eyes drift around as the song begins to come to a close.

Looking around, the hall was beautiful, and meticulously clean, decorated in such a way that they were transported back, as if now french aristocracy.

_Pre-revolution, obviously, as no one's come headless. _

Mona feels as if she's looking for something, but can't figure out what. Was it her old self, the deepest of her subconscious, guiding her to something she couldn't put a finger on?

"Mona, what do you think?" Everyone turns to her, making her eyes widen slightly, before she remembers what Sherrinford had said.

Mona opens her mouth to speak.

Two sudden light taps on her right shoulder almost makes her jolt in shock.

Mona turns around slowly, to see a six foot tall, dark haired man stood in front of her.

He wears a silver mask, so as to not hide his handsome face, his structured cheekbones forming shadows underneath them in the light of the chandeliers.

Shock registers on his face and his brow creases momentarily upon seeing her, and she guesses it was because of her eye. Mona feels the sudden urge to tell him off. However, she restrains herself, and waits for what he has to say.

Instead, he just outstretches a hand towards her.

"I would be honoured if you would give me the pleasure of the next dance." She frowns momentarily, studying the curls of his raven hair.

That voice. The one from her dream.

Stunned for a second, she quickly regains her mask of composure.

"I'm sorry, I don't really dance-" Mona is about to turn him down, but suddenly has a change of heart.

She watches, almost helplessly, as she places her hand in his.

"Yeah. Alright."

The mystery man leads her to the dancefloor, where they wait for the orchestra to prepare the next song, along with plenty of other couples, all grinning and laughing.

"So..." She starts, feeling a bit awkward, feeling his analytical, harsh gaze boring into every part of her, as if he can't believe that she's real. "What's your name?" His mouth parts in shock. "Oh, wait," She lets out a small, uneasy laugh. "No names, isn't that the rule?" Mona nods to herself slightly, as he gives no sign of a reply any time soon.

She watches briefly as a cellist tunes the strings of her instrument.

"I'll make you a deal." Mona begins. "If I guess your name by the end of the night, will you actually talk to me?" He blinks, and then, a small smile displays his impressive teeth.

For some unknown reason, her stomach does a somersault.

"Sorry." Was his simple response. "However, I know your name."

Studying what little of his features he displayed, she came to the conclusion that he definitely echoed Sherrinford. Perhaps it was in the way he held himself, or his dictation that never faltered, but there were similarities that Mona just couldn't ignore.

"I think everyone here knows it a bit too much."

The music begins to play, and his fingers interlock with hers, as they the orchestra play one corresponding note, harmonizing briefly.

A violinist starts off by himself with quick notes for a few seconds, and then the flute replaces it, and the waltz starts.

Mona recognises it as the Danse Macabre.

The dance of death.

_God, whoever set this up definitely loved to dramatize. _Mona finds herself wanting to mock everything around her.

She can do nothing but stare up into his strange eyes and wonder who he is, as he leads her expertly. It was strange, but she felt as if his hand was fitting perfectly with hers, and his touch was as if it had already been there, as if he knew exactly how to hold her because it was her, faultlessly customised for her body, not because she was just another dance partner.

"Ramona." He says, and she feels a dulled ache in the back of her mind, now thankful that she took painkillers beforehand.

She simply frowns at him, half in surprise and half in confusion.

"I'm sorry... But I think you have me confused for someone else."

He looks shocked again, as they continue dancing, and suddenly, the song erupts into a whole strings piece, the whole room being filled with loud, beautiful music.

The dancing becomes more lively as they turn at the corner of the wooden rectangle, and she's unable to tear away from his eyes, hypnotized by his gentle but analytical gaze.

"Don't tell me you don't know my name." His tone was lighthearted, but there was definitely an underlying sense of either urgency or desperation. Her face falls completely at the fact he must have meant something to her.

"Don't remember anyone's, actually." Mona replies. "I guess it's sort of the point of this ball."

"I don't follow." He glanced down briefly at her steps as she almost lands on his foot, but averts her shoe so that the dance continues smoothly, and smiles sadly.

"Names are dangerous for me. Faces do nothing, but names and objects are the things I have to watch out for." There was something she could feel that he wasn't telling her, causing her brow to furrow in confusion. "I've got amnesia from a concussion. Has no one told you?"

He seems to register this for a second, and his light grip of her hand suddenly becomes tighter.

Her head was starting to thump with the familiar pain, and she felt as if the industrial strength painkillers were being singed away by the blurred memories.

"Tell me your name." His brow creases at the sudden question.

"Don't you have to guess?" Mona smiles slightly, as the symphony starts to end.

"I've never been one for games. At least, I don't think I have."

"Oh, you'd be surprised."

He seems to take in every part of her face, and she suddenly feels vulnerable.

_Almost like... Being under a microscope. _

This thought seems to come from nowhere, but the image of a microscope upon a kitchen table spikes and stays in her mind, and Mona cries out in pain, only audible to him over the loud sounds of the orchestra.

His expression becomes one of extreme concern.

"Are you alright?" She takes a breath through gritted teeth, nodding, but her eyes fill with tears of agony.

"Yeah," Mona's voice was shaky. "Give me a few clues then, would you?"

The orchestra climaxes, and as they finish, he dips her, his face dangerously close to hers, as he leans in to whisper into her ear.

"I'm a Consulting Detective."

Her eyes widen as he quickly brings her back to her feet, the pain unimaginable in her head.

It was right there, she could feel it.

It was screaming at her to remember, and she fought to muffle the screeches.

However, the knives sliding through her skull were bigger and sharper than she had ever felt.

Mona had a feeling that having a brain aneurysm in front of the whole hall would definitely not be good for business.

As the floor becomes flooded and busy with people switching over for the next song, he releases her hand, and looks around the crowds briefly, as if looking for an exit for them both to leave through.

She takes this opportunity to disappear in the mob of excited masked people, holding her dress and running over and up the stairs, and this time no one saw.

* * *

Mona ends up at the beginning of a random dark hallway on the other side of the huge mansion, quickly pacing through it and to the glass panes of the double doors, throwing one open and closing it gently behind her.

Standing in the middle of the large balcony she could just see the French countryside, the warm glow of Paris bearly visible in the distance.

For a moment she felt as if she might be sick, her mind slowly settling.

She had panicked and ran away, scared that she may have died in that moment.

But who was that man? Why was he having such an effect on her?

And why did he have the same voice as the one in her dreams?

Suddenly, the doors opens behind her, and Mona whips round to see the man stood there, not taking his eyes off her as he closes the door behind him, subtly locking it, so that this time, there was no escape.

Her eyes narrow as his eyes brush over her.

"That was rude." He states, nonchalantly.

"I needed some fresh air."

He walks over to beside her, looking out to the view, and the clear night sky.

Mona looks up to the blackness, lit up by hundreds of huge, bright stars in the unpolluted country sky.

"Want one?" His voice brings her back down to earth, to see a cigarette box in his hand, as he fishes for what is presumably a lighter in his tuxedo trousers pocket.

She shakes her head, and he raises an eyebrow.

"No, I don't smoke, thank you." The man's eyes widen slightly, but then, chuckling, he puts the box back in his pocket.

"Is that so?" He asks rhetorically, the darkness and his mask making him look ridiculously attractive.

Suddenly, he produces a gun from his pocket, and she steps back in surprise, almost tripping on her dress.

"I don't know what sort of game your playing, but it's not one I'm willing to play." Her eyes widen as he cocks the gun, aiming it at her head, eyes narrowing. She notices that although there was nothing but confidence in his voice, his hand was shaking ever so slightly. "Tell me what's going on, and in detail, otherwise I _will_ kill you."

"I- I don't know what you're talking about."

"Stop lying to me, Ramona!" She frowns deeply.

"Why do you keep calling me that? My name's Mona!" The man shakes his head incredulously.

She watches in disbelief. How did he not know who she was?

"Mona Moriarty."

His mouth drops open in shock, freezing and simply staring at her for a moment. Then, he clears his throat, and starts to talk in a hushed tone.

"Look, for all that's happened, for all that you've said-" Frustration filled her, wanting to know what had happened and what she had said. "I still... I can get you out of here. But you're going to have to-"

"Why would I want to leave?! And why with you?! I haven't got a clue who you are, why would I run away with you, leaving my husband?"

"Your husband?!" He looks up to the sky briefly and then back down in disbelief, and seems to address someone who wasn't there. "Oh, you've been busy, haven't you?"

Noticing his grip absentmindedly relax on the gun, she takes the opportunity to knock it out of his hand, sending it flying off to the side, and landing on the stone fence around the balcony.

He goes to take a step towards her.

"Don't come any closer. Stop there." She notices that his grey eyes start to fill slightly.

"And what will you do if I don't stop?" Her eyes narrow. "Will you fight me off?" She braces herself for a scrap, picking out his weak spots.

Something inside of her makes her pull her courage together.

"Actually, yes. I will."

"You don't want to do that, Ramona."

"That's not my name!"

"Let me take you home. I'll help you, whatever he's done to you, I can get you back to normal, back to safety." He studies her furious expression, and raises his hands to her mask. "If you'd just-"

She hits his hands away from her face, suddenly terrified.

The man reaches out again, more gently and slower, his face now sad as he studies her.

"Get away!" Without a second thought, she throws a fear fuelled punch towards the man's face, which he sways away from with ease, catching her wrist and gripping it tightly, using it to pull her closer towards him.

"You won't win this." His tone is quieter, but intense.

Mona tries to pull her arm away from the frightening man, but he refuses to move an inch, as if suddenly made of stone.

"Oh really?" There's a tension in the air as she leans in closer to him in a challenging fashion, and for some reason, his eyes light up.

"I already know how this'll end up." She can feel his breath lightly skim over her face, and doesn't pull away from the pleasantness of it. "Long story short, I'm on top."

Her heart jumps and she realises it's racing in her chest.

"You think you're the only one who can play that game?"

"Perhaps at your full capacity you could posed a threat. But right now? You're weak. Vulnerable." She feels anger rising. "Tell me what happened to you." Mona swallows.

"Make me." She almost snarls, and his mouth twitches to a smirk.

"Oh, with pleasure."

He quickly sweeps her feet, catching her off guard as she falls against the wall of the building, but quickly regaining balance and bringing her mind into fight mode.

As he approaches, she calculated ten different scenarios as to how this would end, and only three of them involved her winning. Mona adjusts her strategy accordingly.

She goes to punch him square in the face with more power she had ever felt, and his eyes widen as he pulls back his arm and elbows her torso before she could get to him, pushing her off to the side.

Spotting something, her eyes widen, as she reaches out for the gun she had been pushed towards, but just as it's an inch away from her fingertips she feels something yanking her back around her throat.

It took her a millisecond to realise it was his bow tie that he had taken from around his neck now wrapped around his two fists at either side of her own neck, strangling her for a second with her own momentum, before pulling her in so that he was stood closely behind her, their bodies almost touching, as she struggles like a wild animal in the tight chokehold.

Mona's eyes look over her shoulder to the masked man.

"I don't want to hurt you. Don't force my hand." His voice is husky in the ear of the jostling girl, causing her to screw her eyes shut.

She brings up her foot and feels her heel slam down into his feet, making the man cry out in pain, stumbling back.

Mona needed to take advantages of their differences. A throw would be ideal and the easiest, as women had no trouble doing that to men as their centres of gravity were better, thanks to the wide hips vs narrow shoulders, as opposed to men's narrow hips vs wide shoulders.

Without giving him time to think, she puts two hands on his right arm that was currently outstretched over her right shoulder and throws him from behind her, over her body and onto the floor in front of her.

He lands with a grunt, briefly screwing his eyes shut and arching his back in pain.

Mona wastes no time in quickly straddling his torso, putting a forearm to his neck and baring her teeth at him slightly, the bare skin of her thigh visible in the moonlight.

She had not come unprepared.

Besides, it was a huge hall full of the most dangerous people in the world.

The woman runs a hand up her left thigh and pulls a knife from a holster that had been invisibly resting there.

Making full eye contact with the shocked man, she raises the blade above her, as it glints in the moonlight.

Mona brings it down with full force towards his chest, and-

_"But even if that's what you think, I'll never leave you. Even if you push me away, or you give up on me, I'll always protect you." _

_"Promise me." _

_"I promise."_

Mona's hand froze, her eyes widening at the sudden memories, and the two word sentence wrapped around the man she was about to kill's baritone.

The man's mouth parts for a split second in surprise, before rapidly raising a leg from underneath her and kicking her the the cold stone behind him, laterally knocking the knife from her hand, clattering to the floor.

When she lands it winds her, only adding to her confusion, putting her in a slight daze, briefly catching a glimpse of the beautiful night sky.

Before she can roll over he's on top of her, the roles from only a few seconds ago now completely reversed.

His hands are on her wrists, rendering Mona's arms completely useless.

Her body goes into a state of panic, writhing and squirming underneath his surprising weight with all she had.

"Get off me! Get off!" She shouts, her words falling on the deaf ears of everyone in the hall, drowned out by the never ending waltzes.

"Ramona, calm down." Another helping of confusion heaps upon her, as he huffs in annoyance and another emotion she didn't recognise, shifting his posture on top of her.

_Is he enjoying this?_

"Stop moving like that." His voice was tight and frustrated.

His hand goes to the edge of her mask.

"Don't! Please!" Her breathing is quick and troubled, as he leans into her face.

"Shh!"

"Help me! Hel-!"

Her screams are cut off by a hand over her mouth, and her eyes widen in fear.

She was all alone, an overpowered man straddling her, the skirt of her dress having now ridden to the very top of her thighs. Mona could be killed or worse right there, and she wouldn't be able to do anything about it.

Suddenly, she feels the pressure lift away from her mouth.

"I won't hurt you, don't worry." It then became painfully obvious that he had been trying to subdue her, not beat her. "Are you alright?"

Her laboured breathing slows, and she stops trying to worm her way out from underneath him in defeat, her blonde hair splayed out underneath her.

"Why do you care?" He smiles sadly, his two hands gently sliding up the sides of her face, and to the bottom of her mask, making her have to fight a shiver.

"You wouldn't believe how many times I've asked that myself."

At this, he softly pushes the mask up and off her, the ribbon pulling her hair up off the floor as it slid off.

She watches for a reaction.

The man lets out a shuddering breath of what could be mistaken for satisfaction, as his eyes find her remaining blue one.

"It's really you." He mutters, almost to himself, as he puts his hands back to her face, his thumb lightly stroking her cheek, and running another down her nose.

Mona felt fully beaten. Even though she could have easily screamed for security, she didn't.

Because she didn't want to.

She needed to find out what he knew about her.

"What am I to you?" She asks, her voice quieter.

The man's fingers slip into her hair, and she finds herself enjoying his touch a bit more than she'd like to admit.

"What _aren't_ you to me?" She frowned at the cryptic response.

Just who and what was this man?

"Tell me," His eyes found hers in the darkness. "What are the odds of a brain aneurysm if your memories return?"

Mona's eyes widen in surprise.

"How did...?" She was impressed as to how he had jumped so quickly to the right conclusion. "Fifty-fifty."

He swallows at this, and his brow creases.

She watches as her hands go to his mask, and he freezes at her touch, leaning into Mona's hands slightly.

"Let me see your face." His eyes are wary as she asks for permission. "Please." He nods.

Her hands go to the back of his head, searching for the ribbon tie in the mess of soft black hair.

The man looks down, his hand goes to his face as the mask drops into it, putting it on the floor beside them.

Slowly looking, their eyes meet, and her brow furrows in annoyance.

Her mind was completely blank. She felt nothing new at the sight of his face, the own uselessness of her own mind frustrating her.

But, she knew that word.

Mona could feel his name on her tongue, but it was trapped in a stained glass box.

Simply put, she found him mesmerizing. Everything about him was like the comfort of a face of an old friend, with something more exciting layered beneath.

"Then..." His brow creases as she begins, desperately wishing she had never had a concussion. "Then tell me your name."

She puts her hands onto the lapels of his tuxedo jacket, in case he should evaporate.

"I just want your name." She repeats, and he stares down at her.

The man opens his mouth to speak, and suddenly, falls lifelessly on top of her, his chest on her face.

"I'm not that boring, am I?" Her voice was muffled against his clothes, as she wiggles up and spots a dart in the top right of his back, going through the different materials of his tuxedo and into his skin.

Mona pinches the feathers at the end and pulls it out quickly.

With a grunt of exertion, she rolls him off her to the right, so that he was laying on his back.

She gets onto her knees beside the man, feeling more anxious than was proper.

Looking around the darkness for a shooter, she found that there was nothing of the sort to be seen.

Mona turns back to him, her hands shakily reaching to take his pulse.

It felt familiar, reaching for a pulse, his pulse.

Where had she done this before?

Before her mind could wonder any further, she hears a brief swish in the air, and then feels a harsh pinprick in her upper left arm.

Mona Moriarty sways for a moment and then, everything goes black, falling on top of Sherlock Holmes.

* * *

**Only she could try to have a good time at a ball and end up getting in a fight and then being drugged, honestly -.-**

**When bae forgets who you are and then tries to stab you haha**

**Thank you for reading, and even more gratitude for reviewing :) They make my day and make me write faster!**


	57. Drown

**Drown - BMTH**

**I don't own Sherlock!**

* * *

"She's alive."

Sherlock smiles, simultaneously shocking everyone in the room.

Even though he was overjoyed that she wasn't dead, the conditions that her life rested precariously upon brought him down almost just as much as her supposed deceased state.

"Sherlock?" Hannah asks.

They were in Baker Street, along with Janine and John.

When he had woken up, to his dismay, this was where he was.

The drugs had been so extreme that Sherlock had been out for a whole two days, allowing for his unconscious body to be transported across the channel and back to England.

"Who... Who's alive?" John's wary tone.

"Who do you think, John?" Sherlock shakes his head in exasperation.

For him, it was painful how slow they were.

"Ramona." His eyes widen. "Ramona Doherty is alive."

Everyone looks shocked, this then translating into uncomfortable side glances and shifts of weight.

"Sherlock... The drugs were heavy, maybe, maybe you need to sleep it off a bit more." Hannah's expression was pained, looking away from his gaze.

"Get Mycroft." Everyone's eyes widen at the fact he was voluntarily choosing to involve his brother. "Inform him his little operative lives." John and Janine frown in confusion, still not understanding, as they didn't know the whole story about what Ramona had truly been.

However, before they could express their bafflement, Sherlock sighs, turning to the door.

"Actually, that won't be necessary."

"Why the sudden change of heart?" Janine asks.

At this, the downstairs door opens, and everyone exchanges incredulous looks behind Sherlock's back as to how he could possibly have known that without looking out of the window.

"Already did." Hannah says, as the British Government makes his way up the stairs.

"France was a bust, then." Mycroft begins, tapping his umbrella on the floor as he entered the room. Sherlock smirks slightly.

"You could say." His brother raises a brow at the cryptic reply.

"From the look on everyone's faces, I'd deduce that you've just said something outrageous."

"You'd be correct."

"Enlighten me, then. And be quick about it, I have afternoon tea with the King of Sweden at one."

"All due respect to his highness, but this is a bit more important than any monarchy, Mycroft. It's more important than anything."

_"Drama queen." _He pauses briefly, a minuscule frown flitting across his face as Ramona's voice fills his head.

"He's saying she's alive, Mycroft." Hannah says, standing up.

The man currently leaning on his umbrella took a moment to register this information, eyes widening slightly, before his brow creases in despair, looking back to his brother.

"I'm certain of it." Sherlock wills his big brother to believe him, take him seriously, for one second.

"It's impossible, Sherlock."

"It's Moriarty." Everyone stiffens at the name. "Nothing's impossible, not when he's concerned."

Mycroft's eyes narrow, and everyone hears their pulses in their ears. Apart from Sherlock, anyone that had any common sense would believe what Mycroft believed. After all, he was never wrong.

"Impossible." He repeats, and Sherlock's heart sinks, as he feels the 'non-geniuses' in the room become certain that he was, in fact, talking rubbish.

"I know what I saw, Mycroft." John stands up, walking over to the detective's side.

"Look, Sherlock, drugs can have some adverse effects on your brain, even when you're not using."

Sherlock turns to him, teeth bared.

"I know what I saw." His voice is a dark tone, as if challenging anyone to go against him.

"He's right, Sherl." Janine begins. "There's no way-"

"You!" Sherlock takes a few steps towards her, putting his hands on her upper arms, looking into her eyes almost pleadingly. "You were there. You must have seen her."

"I..." Janine looks around uncomfortably, and then back into his analysing grey gaze. "I went to the loo, and when I came back, you were nowhere to be seen."

Sherlock's face visibly falls.

"When I went to look for you, I finally found you alone, out stone cold on a balcony."

Memories flood back to him, the image of her freezing on top of him, when he had been certain that Ramona would murder him. The way she was suddenly so still, it was as if she had transformed into a statue above him.

"I'm sorry, Sherlock, but I didn't see her."

He huffs and quickly turns away from her, starting to pace.

"Oh, this is smart."

"It is?"

"Can't you see?" He stops momentarily and scans all of their faces. "He's tried this before. Tried to isolate me, ostracize me from society. Make me out to be a madman."

_"You don't need much help with that." _Ramona's voice again, putting him down.

"But he's being much smarter about it this time." His hands briefly go to his hair, before flying back down again in frustration. "None of you believe me, not one bit."

"Sherlock... He's dead. They're both dead." John was extremely concerned for his best friend, who was fraying at the edges.

"He's even got you. Caught up in The Spider's web of lies."

"If you were to have your way, and we were to actually believe you, what would you have us think?" Mycroft was trying to put logic back into his broken brother. "That Ramona had somehow survived a horrific explosion? That Moriarty is somehow still alive after shooting himself in the face? That they're working together?"

"She's lost her memories. She wasn't acting herself at all."

"Surely you realise how delusional you sound." His brother replies.

For a moment, Sherlock sees red.

He quickly brings up his fist, and aims straight for his brother's nose.

His direct attack was met by a palm instead.

He turns, to see Hannah's hand held out in between the Holmes brothers, gently pushing his own away from The British Government.

"How telling, Sherlock." Mycroft swallows discreetly, thanking his agent's quick reflexes for his not broken nose.

_"Your temper's worse than mine." _Hearing her voice again was a bittersweet experience. _"And that's saying something. Did I ever tell you about how I once got into a fight over pick n' mix?"_

"Her eye." The detective starts. "She was wearing a silver contact. I've never seen anything like it. It could hardly be used as a disguise, as it draws more attention than it deflects. The properties of silver? Reflects light the best out of all the elements." Mycroft basically rolls his eyes without moving them. "Now, try to put two brain cells together for one _millisecond_ and ask yourself; why might someone need to reflect light away from their eye?"

Mycroft sighs, completely exasperated.

"Sherlock, you cannot be serious." He had already made the connection, already solved the riddle.

"Yeah, there are actually some non-geniuses in the room, if you'd like to enlighten us." John says, and Sherlock breaks out of the eye contact with his brother, turning to face the others.

"You're a doctor of sorts, John. Would you mind telling us when and why pupils dilate?"

John looks up briefly, as if trying to remember.

"Er, when they need more light to see properly. Or when someone has a concussion."

"Bingo!" Sherlock shouts, making Janine jump. "A concussion."

"Sorry, but where is this all leading?" Hannah asks.

"So, she needed the contact to control the amount let into her pupil after one of her eyes stuck that way after the concussion she received from being blown back by an explosion." Sherlock looks around the room. "An explosion that she survived."

John's eyes widen in shock, as Hannah shakes her head is dismay.

"She wakes up in an unfamiliar place, and the first person she sees is James Moriarty. After learning of her memory loss, he manipulates her into believing that they're married, and that her name is Mona Moriarty."

"Oh my god." Hannah breathes, turning away.

"And here's the catch; she can remember, but there's a fifty fifty chance her memories returning could result in a brain aneurysm. There's no telling if she may die or not."

He studies them, gauging for a reaction. The main theme on their faces was one of disbelief.

"It's aimed at me, as are all of his schemes. A cry for attention- or worse." His eyes become far away for a moment, before returning to the present. "In short, I can never have her back. None of us can. In case, of course we want to risk her dying for real. He's teasing me. I can look, but I can't touch."

"You've... Really thought this one out, haven't you?" John's tone was ridiculously uncomfortable, shifting his weight onto another foot.

Sherlock notices his hand tightening and releasing again and again by his side, a nervous tick.

"This is getting ridiculous." Mycroft's voice behind him.

"I'm sorry?" The detective's face was one of unfurled annoyance, a tone of 'don't push your luck' evident in his voice.

"It's nothing but a delusion." Sherlock feels his fist tighten, and looks away from his brother, for the sake of his face. "Really, Sherlock? Escapism? You've never been one for anything but logic."

"Exactly."

"Unfortunately, this is the real world. The dead are not resurrected, and broken hearts are not fixed." Sherlock's eyes narrow.

"I've never had a heart to be broken. Or so I've been told." He gestures vaguely to Janine.

"Regardless of what you have been told, I regret to inform you that you are currently suffering from heartbreak."

"Shut up, Mycroft." He growls.

"Denial is the first stage of grief, Sherlock. you just need time." John interrupts, fearing their argument may become physical again.

The detective wastes no time in turning to the man currently trying to play intermediary, his expression mixed in desperation and seething hot rage.

"I'm not grieving, because there is no dead girl to grieve over. She. Is. Alive." He studies John's face intently, desperate to gain at least one ally. "You have to believe me, John. I'm telling the truth."

John's expression is anguished as he turns away.

"She's dead, Sherlock." He mutters. The taller man closes his eyes in frustration, looking away too.

"And what was recovered of her body is buried in a cemetery ten miles from here," Hannah joins in, trying to drill reality into Sherlock. "In a nice spot under a blossom tree. On her gravestone are the words 'I wish you to know that you have been the last dream of my soul', from her favourite book. It's white marble, nothing fancy, but modern. Her body is six feet underneath that stone, and it hasn't moved for a month." Hannah looks into his eyes. "Because she's dead."

Sherlock found himself becoming increasingly upset, half because no one would take a blind bit of notice to the drug addict, and half because he was starting to doubt what he had seen with his own eyes.

"Sherlock, I think you need to see a-"

"THERE'S NOTHING WRONG WITH ME!" The ferocity of the shout makes everyone flinch away. "Why won't any of you believe me?!" He cries, finally reaching the end of his short fuse. "For God's sake! She's alive, and she's not safe!"

"I think some time away would be best for you." Hannah replies, although talking to Mycroft, who nods to reply.

"So is Moriarty! We're all in mortal danger! Ramona is probably disorientated and helpless, for once in her life she needs us!"

"I agree." Mycroft replies to Hannah, ignoring his ranting brother.

"You're all idiots! _She'd _believe me!"

"There's a rehab centre in Zurich that Sherlock did well in last time he had a relapse. I'll make a call."

At this, Sherlock's last bit of patience snaps with a crack, and he pushes Mycroft up against the wall, hand at his throat, with as much force as to cut off his airways at first.

"Now you listen, and you listen carefully, because I am not going to repeat myself." Mycroft's eyes are wide at the expression of unfiltered rage contorting his brothers features, one that he had never seen so extreme. "She's alive. She's alive, and she's more dangerous than ever with Moriarty. He'll craft her into a weapon of mass destruction, and wield her against the entire world. She has the capacity to be completely insane, we've all seen it. And he'll cultivate that capacity until she reaches the point of no return. Ramona will become a human drone, nothing more than a shell of who we know her to be, unless we stop him. We need to act quickly, before he gains complete contro-"

A large clang is the last thing Sherlock hears.

A frying pan hits the side of his head at force, knocking him out instantly, as he falls to the floor.

Hannah looks up and around the stunned people with slight pride, grasping onto the handles of the weapon, as Mycroft clears his throat and rubs his neck in discomfort, grimacing slightly, before nodding a thanks to her.

* * *

**Ramona**

Opening her eyes slowly, the first thing Mona sees is the white ceiling, brushed with soft sunlight flooding in from the windows.

Suddenly, everything from the previous night hits her with the power of a tidal wave.

Sitting up and looking around, she found that she was back in England, back to Sherrinford's house.

Her house.

"You- you're up?" Anna's meek voice finds her and pulls her out from underneath the rough tides of her thoughts.

"How long have I been out?"

"Two days, mi- Mona." Her eyes widen.

"Two days!"

The only thing she could think about was the man. Perhaps it was wishful thinking, but she felt that he was holding the key to her locked memories. If she could get to him again, if she could get his name, then maybe, just maybe-

"Who drugged me?" Anna looks stunned at the quick question, as Mona gets out of bed quickly, walking to the en suite door.

"Excuse me?"

"Darts. Animal tranquilizers, I suspect." Anna swallows.

"It was a- someone at the ball wanted to kidnap you, and then hold you for ransom. They've... Been taken care of." Mona raises a brow, glancing briefly at the maid, and then does a double take, eyes narrowing.

"You're lying." Anna's eyes bulge.

"W-what?!" Mona wraps herself in the silk peach coloured dressing gown, and takes a few steps towards her.

"I can tell."

"But I'm not-"

"Yes you are."

Anna cringes, looking away and swallowing.

"Why are you lying to me?" She starts to fidget with her fingers, twisting a pendant around her neck with her delicate looking fingers.

"I'm not." She replies quietly.

"Tell me." Her voice softens. "Please, Anna."

"I'll get into trouble." Mona's eyes widen.

"With who?" Anna shakes her head violently, screwing her eyes shut, as the other girl takes another step forward. "I promise I won't get you into trouble. I won't."

_"Promise?"_

Mona screws her eyes shut briefly at the man's voice, putting her fingers to her temples, and then throwing them away.

"Please, Anna. I'm begging you." Anna hesitantly looks up to her, catching her pleading expression, and sighs in defeat.

"Fine."

"Thank you."

"It- it was Colonel Moran." Mona's mouth drops open.

"Sebastian?" Anna nods at her disbelieving tone.

"Mr Holmes told him to."

She absorbs this information, staring down at the floor, until rage flooded her.

"Well," Her tone was hushed, but venomous. "Tell _Mr Holmes_ that I want to speak with him. Immediately." Anna's face falls.

"But you said-"

"I'll get it out of him, Anna. You have no need to worry." Mona takes her small, slightly shaking hands in hers and holds them together, looking up sincerely into her big brown eyes.

"You don't understand." She frets. "Mr Holmes is- he's- he's-"

_Spit it out already._

"He's...?" Mona says, to encourage the girl into divulging more very much needed information.

"He's _everywhere._" Her eyes widen.

"...Everywhere?"

"He's like a God walking the earth." Mona was starting to feel concern for her at the hyperbole of a simile. "He knows everything, he sees everything, he hears everything, and he owns everything and everyone on the entire planet."

"I don't understand."

"He runs the world." She replies. "He's NATO. He's the nuclear submarines. He's the American, Chinese, and Russian Government all at the same time. And no one even dares to speak his name." The last words were intertwined with a small sob, and Mona quickly pulls her into a comforting hug, although being two inches smaller than her.

"Shh." Mona tries to help Anna, but she's just as clueless as her.

What did she truly know? Nothing.

"Y-you-"

"It's going to be okay. You've got my word on that."

"Really?" Mona laughs, and pulls out of the hug, looking back at her and studying her face.

"Hey, who am I?" Anna looks stunned for a moment. "Actually, don't answer that, I'm not too sure myself." She laughs again, but Anna now seems even more upset.

"I'm so sorry."

"Don't be. Don't be scared, either." She lets out an exhale and moves completely away from her, walking to the en suite again.

"So- so what do you want for breakfast?"

Mona stops halfway in, peering around the doorway.

"Answers, love." She winks at her, and then closes the door behind her.

* * *

**Sherlock**

Sherlock awoke with a start, instantly standing up out of his bed.

Looking around, he sighed in annoyance.

"Ah, you've finally come to. I trust you've calmed down significantly."

Mycroft's voice makes him bristle, looking over to the source. He was stood by the door, leaning on his trusty umbrella. To lessen his anger, Sherlock envisioned himself kicking the umbrella from underneath him, causing his brother to fall flat to the ground. This caused him to almost snort with laughter at the thought of him spluttering, face flushed in embarrassment, reaching around for his umbrella.

"I had to cancel on the king of Sweden."

"Lucky for him."

"Sherlock, your anger is understandable." His eyes narrowed at the thought that anyone, anywhere, could understand just the magnitude of his feelings since she had died. No one could truly estimate just how much his chest had ached, and how much it hurt now that he knew she was alive. "What is not understandable, is why you have made up this Utopian fantasy."

"Sorry to disappoint, but it's neither of those things. It's a plausible theory with strong evidence behind it."

"For God's- Sherlock, you have made up a world that does not exist. I fear that you may have actually gone insane."

His eyes widen for a moment at the claim.

"Insane? It's far from 'Utopian'. If I _was _making it up, why would I fabricate such a harsh illusion?"

"Because anything's better than her being dead. Even if it's just fantasies." Sherlock was incredulous.

He refused to be confused by Moriarty. There was no way what he had seen was a hallucination.

"Me? Fantasies? Please."

"Sherlock, tell me, why do you think she didn't know who you are?"

"Because she has amnesia. Obviously." Sherlock turns away from his brother.

"Or perhaps you attacked a random woman?"

"There's no way I'd ever-"

He stops, when he hears the sound of silver on wood.

Looking to the noise, he sees the wedding ring he had given Ramona placed on the wooden dresser next to his brother.

"That's all we found of her." Sherlock approaches it, picking it up tentatively.

"Surely this adds even more proof to my theory?" He plays with the ring inbeween his long fingers.

"We found it attached to a severed hand." His eyes almost bulge out of his head. "_Her_ severed hand. It had-"

"That's enough." Sherlock's imagination was far too vivid to be told details of her gory death. His mind was too overactive, with not enough to do, especially-

Wait.

That was a point.

His imagination _was _vivid, wasn't it?

"There is positively no doubt in my mind that she is _dead, _Sherlock."

"This doesn't make sense." Sherlock shakes his head. "There must be a logical explanation."

"Yes. One in particular springs to mind." Mycroft looks towards him with raised eyebrows, causing his little brother to turn fully towards him, subtly pocketing the ring in his dressing gown.

"Just what do you keep trying to imply?" His brother looked as if he had had enough of Sherlock's perpetually unraveled state, fully exasperated.

"What I'm trying _imply_, Brother Mine, is that the only person you have ever loved turned out to be a fake. Then she died, and you are now in a deep depression, spiraling out of control."

Sherlock's frozen to the spot, simply staring at his brother vacantly with a parted mouth.

Someone had finally said it. Out loud.

And God, it hurt.

"Sherlock, I am doing this for a reason,-"

"How dare-" His voice breaks into a huskier tone. "How dare you?" His brother blinks.

"I'm sorry?"

"How dare you play god with peoples lives?" Mycroft begins to register that he may have overstepped the line. "How dare you trick me, play me, use my emotions to spy on me, send her away when she's served her purpose, then call me insane, and after all of this... You have the nerve to turn around and claim it was all in the name of brotherly love?!"

Mycroft swallows, his mask of composure never slipping from his ice features.

"I never intended for you to invest yourself so heavily into her."

"Oh, well, that makes it _so_ much better, doesn't it?"

"She knew what she was getting into, Sherlock. However, up to the point of her death Ramona never took the slightest liking to you."

Sherlock shakes his head.

That couldn't be right. He refused to acknowledge that.

Because it didn't make sense. No matter how good of an actor someone may be, no one could be _that _good.

"I don't believe you."

And then, The Ice Man's composure slips.

"...What?"

"I said; I don't believe you."

"How did you come to this conclusion? Willful ignorance?"

"No, deduction."

"Deduction?"

"No one gives their life away so wholeheartedly for money. There'd simply be no point."

"Everyone has their price."

"She didn't."

"You'd be surprised."

Mycroft felt heavy with lies, guilt, and worry. His brother was rotting away in front of his eyes, and it was all his fault. In the end, he had been the one to put them together. For all his efforts, he may of just made things worse.

"Tell me the truth, Mycroft." The man leaning on an umbrella pulled up his gaze to meet his brother's.

Mycroft sighs, knowing that he was going to give in to him. The fact of the matter was, was that Sherlock was his biggest pressure point. He had initially thought that keeping up Ramona's 'fake' status was advantageous to Sherlock's recovery, but now? Now it was nothing more than a hindrance, a dead end in which his brother could wallow in for the rest of his life. Which was short, if his recent behaviour was anything to go by.

"The truth? Ramona _was _employed by me." Sherlock sighs in annoyance, looking away. "However, she was unaware of this fact for the majority of her time with you." His brother looks up again, eyes wide.

"What?"

"Hannah. She was the only one who knew of Project Guardian." Sherlock's eyes narrowed. "I saw Ramona one day, it was completely down to fate. She was a prodigy of a teenager, successful mentally and physically, a slightly distorted reflection of you at that time in life. My plan... Even by my standards, it was a truly ingenious solution to my predicament. The woman you know as Hannah was, at the time, top of her class in military school, and although she displayed a few criminal tendencies, she was a good child. A perfect candidate."

"Just where are you going with this?" Sherlock preferred not to jump to conclusions before he had heard the full story, but wanted Mycroft to get to the point. And quickly. He had work to do.

"I propositioned the idea to her, and she accepted wholeheartedly. I gave her a false identity, enrolled her in Ramona's school and placed her into all of her classes. Her objective was to befriend her, protect her, and when the time was right, to bring her down to London. To Baker Street." Mycroft took a sharp inhale. "Where she was to encounter, and impress you. The plan was for you to become friends, and she would come to protect you in the moments you needed her most. However, she didn't know any of this."

Sherlock took in this information, and then, looked down at the dresser, brow creased in pain, his chest aching violently.

She had been lying.

He felt physically ill at how ignorant he had been.

Ramona was just as much a victim of his brother's antics as he was, if not worse. For most of her life she had been reared with the sole purpose of being killed, like livestock. To top things off, when she had found out, she had stayed with him.

Why?

"Do you follow?"

He gave no sign of a reply any time soon. He slowly looked up to his brother, his sharp gaze cutting at The Ice Man.

"You lied to me."

"For your own sake."

"You deceived us time and time again."

"It was for your protection, Sherlock, try to understand-"

"You killed her. You." Mycroft's eyes widen, guilt once again hitting him instantly at the bluntness of it. "If it wasn't for your incessant meddling, she'd be living a normal life. With any luck, she might even be happy."

"Someone like Mona Doherty could never live a normal life, Sherlock."

"She could try. She could have had a _chance_."

"You'd also have a gunshot wound on your chest."

"I don't care about any of that, Mycroft. I truly don't." His big brother sighs.

"Sherlock, if I had never 'meddled', she would certainly have met an early grave."

"You seem insistent on the fact that she did in fact meet an early grave."

"An earlier one." Sherlock raises a brow. "Hannah had saved her life on more than one occasion, the first one when she was fourteen, carelessly crossing a road. Would you rather that?"

He debated this.

"No. Obviously."

In this moment, Sherlock hated his brother. He well and truly despised every ounce of him. Not for the mocking quips, or the occasional tease- those he could bare- but for the lies.

"Hannah was the informant, Ramona was the human shield." The detective quietly summarizes Mycroft's masterplan.

"Precisely."

He takes one look at his brother, and feels his stomach churn.

"Get out."

"I hardly-"

"I can't look at you right now." Mycroft's eyes widen slightly at the clarity in his voice. "Get out." He repeats, stronger this time. He sighs.

"As you wish, then." Mycroft slowly turns, and walks out of his bedroom, leaving him on his own, listening for the sound of footsteps walking down the stairs.

Sherlock feels his eyes start to sting, and steps back, sitting on his bed, and producing the wedding ring from his pocket, examining it as the diamonds glinted in the light.

Why did Ramona have to be used like a plaything by people? Why did they have to choose her? First his brother, now Moriarty. The Napoleon of Crime.

He felt miserable, completely and utterly useless. He could do nothing to Moriarty whilst he held her like a shield instead of a sword, and he knew it. On top of that, he had successfully ruined his own accountability by heavily using and falling into the most intense period of depression he had ever experienced when she had 'died'.

The one thing Sherlock truly desired, the one thing that could provide him with a permanent relief to his eternal state of boredom, perhaps even a chance of redemption, and he could never have it. Unless he wanted to take the risk of her dying, which was completely out of the question. In a way, he supposed it would be better to pretend she was dead, but it was something he just couldn't bring himself to do.

Then again, perhaps he really was a lunatic. A stark raving madman, who created fantasies of his dead best friend in order to cope with the harsh reality of his hatefully mundane existence. It was easily possible, especially for someone of his ability. After all, he did have an entire mind palace. What was a ghost of the woman he had once known and a couple of meticulously thought out theories from dodgy leads?

He was Sherlock Holmes. He had laughed in the face of inevitable death, and quite frankly, told it to piss off when it had come knocking on his door. What was anything else after that?

Either Moriarty had reached new heights of intelligence and manipulation of the human mind, or Sherlock had taken one too many hits one night, and a part of his mind had collapsed in on itself.

The latter was more logical, but the former was just so desirable, so... Clever.

It was a well known fact that Sherlock loved everything to be clever.

His books.

His technology.

His serial killers.

Even his women...

His woman.

* * *

**Ramona**

"That'd be me." Mona states, raising a hand slightly.

"Ah, yes, who else?" Sherrinford replies, walking over to her.

He had previously asked her who was angry with him, sensing the tension in the room.

"How are you feeling? Don't worry, the kidnapper has been put down-"

"Really?" She crosses her arms. "My condolences. Sebastian was such a _good_ man." Mona's eyes narrow.

Sherrinford shows no sign of, well, anything, and instead sighs lightly.

"How did you find out?"

"One: It was obvious. Two: I'm smart. Three: The cover story was truly awful."

"I see." He studies her face. "And you're angry about this?"

"Extremely." Mona shifted her weight, reaching into her endless supply of courage. "Firstly, why did you drug me?!"

"It's funny, brain aneurysms tend to put a bit of a stopper on parties."

"But why were you watching what was happening, and not intervening?"

"I don't intervene on anything, unless absolutely necessary. In life, there are those who perform, and those who observe." He shrugs. "I'm an observer."

"How did you know that I wasn't going to be killed- or worse?" At this, he give a short laugh.

"Oh, I had a feeling you were perfectly safe."

"What about him?" At this, he pauses.

"Who?"

"Don't play dumb. My attacker. The mystery man, if you will."

"Him? Oh, no one important." Her eyes narrow at his dismissal.

"You'll have no trouble telling me his name, then."

Suddenly, his gaze becomes something so hot white with rage that she feels it burning her skin and stilling her heartbeat in fear.

It was frightening. He had suddenly changed from a man with a never ending amount of patience into something so ferociously terrifying in a heartbeat.

"Drop this." Sherrinford's voice came out darker, his height now threatening.

"N-no. I won't."

"I'm giving you one warning."

"Tell me who he is, or I'll just find out myself."

"You'll do _nothing _of the sort." Sherrinford goes to turn away from her, making her anger even bigger.

"For God's sake, you can't control me, like- like I'm some sort of pet! Tell me his name! I've had enough of-"

Suddenly, her head whips to the side, a sickening crack filling the air.

Mona's hand instinctively went to the right side of her face, now burning.

It stung, it hurt like hell.

Hesitantly looking back up at him, it became apparent what had happened.

Sherrinford had hit her.

His jaw was tensed, his teeth locked together.

Mona drew in a shocked breath, her eyes beginning to fill at the pain, and the shock.

He didn't seem like the sort of man to hit his wife, especially not at such an understandable request.

She honestly couldn't believe what had just taken place.

"We won't speak of this any further. Will we?" He asks, although it wasn't so much of a question as a command.

Mona's wide, tear filled eyes look down to her feet as she nods.

Sherrinford turns and paces out, leaving her on her own.

It takes four seconds until she lets out the first sob, falling to her knees and covering her face with her hands.

Her mind was a complete mess, a frozen computer. She wasn't herself, she knew that much.

Mona needed answers. And she wouldn't get them around here. Not from Sherrinford, not from the people he controlled.

She also wasn't going to get any names or objects that could help her retrieve her memory loss.

And then, the solution came to her, as she hears Sherrinford's car start up, and pull away from the house, driving not one bit more erratically than he usually would, as if everything was fine.

It would either work, or it would kill her. She'd rather these two options than live in this strange half-life she was leading.

How do you fix a frozen computer?

You turn it on and off again.

Another concussion.

Without taking another moment to debate over this, her decision was already made.

Mona stands up again, wipes her face, taking a few deep calming breaths, and staring her reflection down in the mirror, steeling herself for what she was about to do.

Walking out of the room, she turned on a hallway and jogged down the stairs casually.

Passing the door to the kitchen, she caught Anna just walking out.

"Oi!" Anna turns, as if about to drop the now polished silverware, seeing the girl running towards her, and grabbing the top of her arms.

"Yes?" She smiles madly up at her, eyes on fire.

"Chase me."

With this, she turns and runs down to the main entrance, Hearing the silverware clatter to the floor in shock as she runs through the doorway.

"Quick! I- I think she's-" Was the last thing she heard before inside the house was out of her earshot.

She keeps sprinting, only focused on one thing, as she gets to the lake in record time.

"Mona! What are you doing?!" Anna's voice from behind her, breathless. She estimated it would be impossible for her to actually catch her before she did what was necessary, but she had alerted the other servants in the household, who were most definitely following closely from behind her.

This ensured that Mona would be saved shortly afterwards, eliminating the threat of drowning.

She breaks out of the woods, getting to the grassy field, not hesitating once as she spots the end of the ground.

If Mona could calculate this correctly, her trajectory along with the angle, she could survive, whilst acheiving a concussion, knocking her back into yesterday.

Well, that was the plan, anyway.

_I should probably say something witty as I jump, something sarcastic with a hint of fuck you. That'd be in character._

Her mind is racing too quickly to think of a punchline, however, as adrenaline overtakes her.

Finally reaching the end of the rock, the last thing the sole of her shoe touches is the very edge of the cliff edge, propelling herself into the air.

Her eyes widen as she sees the violent waves crashing against sharp rocks underneath her unsupported body, the sound of the sea muffling everything else but her thoughts.

She closes her eyes, completely relaxing her body before she hits the water.

_A state of calm throughout my mind to prevent a heart attack with the shock on impact._

And then, Mona hits the cold rush of water, instantly feeling the harsh temperature.

The powerful waves pull her under, as she realises she had not had enough power on her fall to have the desired effect.

But there were still the rocks.

As she gasps for air, hitting the surface briefly, the icy tide quickly grabs back onto her violently, pulling Mona back under.

Her body spins helplessly, completely at the mercy of fate in the dark, menacing water, her lungs beginning to ache with the lack of oxygen.

Panic begins to fill her, knowing that if the rocks hit her even one inch away from the desired area on her skull, even just behind her ear, it could kill her on impact.

_In hindsight, this was idiotic._

Struggling up to the top and taking a final breath, the sea stops with it's game of life and death, supposedly fed up with just toying with her.

_I'm an idiot, and now, I'm going to die one._

The current suddenly surges, pushing her under and back with a huge momentum, the back of her head meeting with the huge rock behind her with a thud of finality.

Her body instantly goes limp under the unforgiving ocean, as her body slowly sinks to the seabed facing the rays of light shooting through from the surface, her hair flowing out around her, eyes closed.

* * *

_"Now, he described himself as 'The Worlds Only Consulting Detective', apparently helping police solve a number of baffling cases. But yesterday it was revealed that Sherlock Holmes was a fake, a fraud, and tragically, that seems to have led to his death."_

_Ramona sits at the dining table in 221C, watching the television from the kitchen. Papers and folders and two laptops were surrounding her on the wood. _

_"Oh! I- I'll turn this off-" Hannah begins, fumbling for the remote._

_"Don't." She replies. "It'll help me work faster. I can clear his name, just give me a few more days." _

_"But you've been working for-"_

_"I don't care."_

_"Lauren Norris is at Saint Bartholomew's Hospital in London to tell us more." The screen switches to a woman stood outside the spot where he had met with the ground, and Ramona flinches away, her eyes already starting to sting._

_"Thanks John. Yes, in the early hours of yesterday morning the man who called himself Sherlock Holmes either jumped, or fell to his death from the roof of this," She pauses briefly to gesture behind her. "Very hospital." _

_"The man who called himself Sherlock Holmes?! What are they trying to-"_

_Suddenly, the screen displays a press picture of Sherlock, his eyes and nose only barely visible from his turned up coat and the deerstalker, his unruly curls escaping from the back. _

_Ramona's chest aches at the bittersweet sight, studying that perfect alabaster skin once more, his pale eyes staring straight back at her._

_"The reason as to why he took his life is still a mystery with no clear answers. It's been just over two months since the event, what's come to be known as the 'trial of the century'. James Moriarty, apparently the leader of a huge criminal organisation, was accused of attempting to steal the crown jewels, and conspiring to break into The Bank Of England. The star witness was the internet sensation- the so called 'Blogger Detective'- Sherlock Holmes."_

_A CCTV picture of Moriarty just before he broke the glass of the crown jewel case appears._

_"Moriarty, however, was sensationally acquitted of all charges, and yesterday the almost unbelievable truth was revealed. James Moriarty was an actor, Richard Brook,"_

_"That's Reichenbach in English. It's a play on words. Why are they so stupid?!"_

_"Hired by Sherlock Holmes, to convince the police and public alike, that he was a genius. Many of the crimes he was said to have committed, simply didn't happen. And the blog that made Sherlock famous was revealed to be nothing more than a work of fiction. Whilst it's still unclear as to why he did what he did, the truth revealed in a national newspaper yesterday was that Sherlock Holmes was nothing more than a fantasist." _

_"IDIOTS!"_

_"And without wishing to speculate, it appears that the truth may have caught up with him, and this then tragically led him to take his own life."_

_It cuts back to the news studio._

_"So a real man of mystery then."_

_"Well apparently so, and so many unanswered questions, I mean we still don't really know who he was."_

_"No, or why he did what he did. A sad end though, to a real tragedy." The woman takes a breath, looking down at the floor, and then looks up again at the camera, this time with a grin on her face. "The lovely boys from One Direction are-" _

_The television changes channels, at Hannah's hand on the remote, to a cheesy sitcom with overused generic laugh tracks._

_Ramona sighs, putting her head in her hands._

_"I don't understand." Her words were muffled in her palms. "I don't understand how they could do this to him."_

_When she looks up, Hannah was stood besides her, rubbing her back comfortingly. _

_"You need some rest, Ramona. You haven't eaten in God knows how long."_

_"Sherlock never ate when he was on a case. It slowed him down."_

_"Well, unless you want to be permanently slowed down-"_

_Ramona let out a moan of despair, trying to not break out into tears again, pushing her face into Hannah, as she pulled her shaking frame into a tight hug._

_"I'm sorry, I didn't think."_

_"I just don't understand any of it..."_

_"Look, maybe you should leave this for a few days. You've been obsessing, and more than usual." At this, Ramona clears her throat and looks back to her work, pushing documents into order._

_"No, no no no. I'm in the zone right now. So close to putting it together, I can practically feel it."_

_"Maybe you need to entertain the possibility, that, maybe, Sherlock wasn't completely sound mentally."_

_Ramona stands up suddenly, staring at her flatmate._

_"What?" Her voice was tight. "Even you?"_

_"Ramona-"_

_"Shut up! You're being unbearably stupid! You're being so, so so so fucking thick! This is exactly what Moriarty wants!"_

_"Richard Brook." Her voice was comforting as she corrected her. _

_Ramona's vision begins to cloud completely with tears._

_"Sherlock is the smartest person I know! He's for real! All of it!" Tears begin to fall. "He wouldn't make this up, because he was a genius! Not just that, he was resourceful, he was blunt, he was... He... He... He-" She covers her face in her hands, as Hannah brings her into another gentle hug. "Oh, God, Sherlock."_

* * *

"Quickly!" Muffled voices could be vaguely heard, as Ramona's body was dragged onto dry land. "Is she breathing?! Check her pulse!" Two cold, soaked fingers on her wrist.

"Pulse is weak, but there." A turned head at her mouth. "She's not breathing!"

"Artificial respiration. Now."

"Really?! Shouldn't you do it? You are her brothe-"

"Just fucking do it!"

Her nose felt the sensation of being pinched, and there was then another hand on her jaw, hearing a loud, deep intake of air, before a mouth meets hers, putting air into her lungs.

Once.

Twice.

"She's not-"

"Again!"

Once more.

Suddenly, Ramona's eyes flew open in shock as the man pulled away. She turned onto her side and gave a violent, spluttering cough which pushed the saltwater out of her lungs. She gasps for air, clutching onto the grass.

Wait, where was she?

Where was Sherlock?

With this thought, everything comes back to her. Everything.

_Oh. That._

Weakly turning and sitting up on the ground, she almost screams at the vision of Moriarty, stood over her with a rageful, dissaproving expression, Sebastian knelt besides her.

_Fuck._

"Uh..." She begins, hoarse voice trailing off.

"_You_ have got a lot of explaining to do, Mona." Jim's dark, foreboding tone, along with the fury in his eyes, led her to believe she was in a lot of trouble.

_You're telling me, mate._

One thought races through her mind, filling it.

_Sherlock. _

* * *

**And player 2 has reentered the game!**

**I'm so happy to have her back :')**

**Thank you for reading! How do you think it's going? Let me know in the reviews! **


	58. Undisclosed Desires

**Undisclosed Desires - Muse**

**I don't own anything apart from my oc!**

* * *

"Dun dun dun!" Hannah's digital voice can be heard from the flat, as Sherlock enters 221B. He freezes momentarily at the sight on the television screen, and Hannah smiling sadly.

On seeing him, she quickly fumbles for the remote to turn it off.

"What are you watching?" He walks over to study the screen.

"This? Oh, it's nothing, I was just going through my home videos and-"

"No, don't." Sherlock interrupts, sitting down in his chair.

His eyes widen when the camera's pointed to Ramona, her cheeks slightly hollowed and her eyes looking bigger from the dark circles underneath.

"When was this?"

"Her graduation."

"I don't remember a-" Realisation sets in. He had missed her graduation whilst he had been dead to the world. "Ah."

Ramona smiled falsely at the camera, her mouth tightly pressed together.

"What day is it?" Hannah asks her, off screen. She puts on a graduation cap, arranging the black tassel properly.

"Graduation! Yay!" He could hear the slight lining of sarcasm in her voice as her eyes widen in mock happiness.

The vision of her stands up, and the camera pans out to a full length shot, to reveal a black cloak fastened at the front with a gold clasp, which was mandatory for graduation ceremonies.

"Come on, let's see a little enthusiasm. You're leaving university as the year's valedictorian!"

"Oh, Hannah, I'm utterly _thrilled_!" She turns for a second, looking in the mirror.

"You know you got two more job offers this morning." The faceless Hannah says. "One from Scotland Yard. Saying they're willing to let you skip being a police officer and go straight to detective."

She scoffs incredulously, waving her hand in dismissal.

"Being in the police would only make thing harder. Plus, I'd have to take things I don't even want to."

"But I thought that was what you wanted to do? Help people?"

"Eh, no. Not my thing."

"Hmm... Lawyer?"

"No."

"Doctor?"

"Nope."

"Rocket scientist?" Ramona turns round at her with a small smile.

"Too easy." This sends a shiver down Sherlock's spine.

"Hey, you know there's a party tonight?" Hannah says, as Harry comes into view on the screen.

"Really? How cliche."

"Yeah. Also, I think Toby's gonna propose to you."

"Again?" She rolls her eyes. "Well, I can't fault his persistence." She smiles a little. "And would you get that thing out of my face?"

"The camera loves you!"

"Taxi's here, babe." Harry says.

"Oh, okay. Come on!" Ramona shakes her head.

"This is stupid." Was the last thing he heard, before the screen goes black.

Hannah sighs, before turning to Sherlock.

"What've you got?" She gestures to a large envelope he was holding.

"Leads. Maps. Rats. The usual."

"Rats?!" Sherlock looks up to the ceiling, knowing that she'd understand.

"Doesn't matter." Before he knows what's happening, she's out of her seat, and putting a small cardboard rectangle near his face.

"Say 'ahh'."

"I know you're a dentist, but do you have to say that every time?"

"Force of habit." She smiles as he opens his mouth, looking away in indifference. She takes it out and places it in the small plastic box.

"I haven't been using. Comedown slows me down."

"Just checking." Her face lights up. "Oh, you've got a case?"

"You could say."

"Well, let me know if you need a stand-in- wait, what is this case about?"

"A missing person."

"Which missing person?"

"Ramona." She sighs, walking away.

"Sherlock, how many times..."

"I know what your tiny little mind thinks, but as _surprising _as it is, you're wrong." He stands up.

"Even if she is." Hannah turns around. "Even if she is, by some miracle, alive, how would you ever find her?"

"I have contacts."

"None of them as good as her, I bet."

"Hannah-"

"When she wants to stay hidden, Sherlock, she stays hidden. That's Ramona. She won't pull an Irene Adler and let you know she's alive, even if she needs your help."

"Oh, I give up." He waves a hand towards her. "Even Einstein could try to teach a dog maths, but it'd never happen."

"Are you calling me a dog?"

"No!" He smiles. "I'm saying you have the intellect of one." Sherlock walks over to the door, opening it for her.

"For God's sake."

"I know everything, Mia." Her eyes widen. "And I'm not in the mood to watch your facade, as if you actually cared about her. Goodbye."

She left, and he shut the door behind her, leaving Sherlock on his own.

God, he felt lonely. Empty, even.

Sherlock didn't have a problem with being alone, he actually preferred it to being with other people. But it was the presence of her that seemed to warm up the flat, making all of the colours richer and making even the dreariest of days sunny, if you looked hard enough.

Or perhaps he was just blowing things out of proportion. He was, after all, a huge drama queen.

Looking back to the television, his mind begins to make connections, to the last time Ramona and himself had been in a video together. He almost laughs at just the thought of it, remembering it all vividly.

* * *

**Four Months Ago**

Ramona pours a bottle of alcohol down the sink of 221B, dressed in grey sweatpants and an athletic white top. Sherlock appears from the hallway having just come out of the bath, hair slicked back in a grey top and jeans with his red dressing gown.

"Having a clear-out?" He surveys the mass of bottles surrounding the kitchen sink.

"I'm trying to drink less." A slight tinge of pride coloured her voice as she emptied the bottle and set it down, which he surveyed with incredulity.

As the glass slid in her hands, her fingers grazed over the end of the bottle, which unknowing to her, had a crack in it, with sharp edges.

Ramona felt the blade of glass slide through her skin sickeningly smoothly, causing her to pull away as a reflex hissing in pain and cursing under her breath. Sherlock shakes his head in exasperation.

"Let me see."

"It's fine." She lied, cringing not so internally in pain. "Just need a plaster." How was it she could be shot and yet still feel pain like this?

Hiding the deep cut in with her other hand, she moves to the cupboard in which the first aid cupboard was held, jumping up onto the kitchen counter to pull the wicker box down. Admittedly, she used this box a bit too much to be normal.

Checking the box, she cursed under her breath again, turning around and jumping down, closing the cupboard.

"We've run out."

"Mm. You used the last plaster three days ago when you fell in the shower." He looks up briefly. "How does anyone actually fall in the shower? You're literally just stood there." She sighs in annoyance, as he looks down at her hands.

"I'd save so much money if I didn't have two left feet."

"Or if you weren't so reckless." He reasons.

"Alright Mr Sensible, you're the one who set fire to the kitchen table two weeks ago."

"That was for science."

"Everything's for science with you." He smirks, grabbing hold of her hand suddenly and holding it up to his face to inspect the would, hissing in a breath through his teeth.

"Nasty." He remarks.

"Alright Doctor Holmes, it's not like I've been-"

She breaks off at the sight of her finger in Sherlock's mouth.

Her mouth drops open, feeling her face burn as Sherlock looks up to her, as if to ask why she had stopped talking. Ramona was completely speechless and frozen, looking up at him with wide eyes.

What was he doing?! Had he gone completely insane?

She'd never admit that she liked the sensation of his warm mouth on her skin, as electric shocks running down her spine made her stand up rigidly.

He takes her finger out of his mouth, looking at her casually.

"You were saying?" She takes a moment, and then blushes harder.

"Just what- what d'you think you're playing at?!" His brow creases in confusion, cocking his head to the side like a confused puppy.

"Sorry?"

"Sherlock. What. The fuck. Was that." She was ridiculously flustered, but not breaking eye contact.

"What do you mean?" Her eyes narrow in disbelief.

"You just- you- you-"

"Oh, _that_." He nods.

"Yeah, that!"

"Well, I was only trying to help, if that's the way you're going to thank me."

"How were you helping?!"

"We didn't have any plasters."

"So you put it in your mouth?! How many things do you put in your mouth that casually, Sherlock?! Do I need to get tested after getting your saliva in my bloodstream?!" He rolls his eyes.

"You should've paid more attention in biology."

"Says you!"

"Saliva has a huge amount of healing properties. It's even better if it's someone elses, as it's a different immune system." She frowns.

"Sorry?"

"Lysozyme, peroxidase, lactoferrin, defensins, cystatins, and thrombospondin. All antibacterial, antiviral, anti-fungal and anti-inflammatory agents. Also contains opiorphin, an painkiller six times more effective than morphine. Should I carry on, or is my point made?" He shrugs. "Why do you think animals lick their wounds?" She glares at him, face still flushed.

"I hate biology." Ramona mutters. "Quantum physics, electromagnetic field theory and thermodynamics is all that ever interested me."

"Now that's hardly fair. Aren't you going to say thank you?"

"For you giving oral sex to my finger?!" Sherlock looks away, crossing his arms.

"Talk about ungrateful." She sighs.

"Well, Sherlock, thank you for sexually assaulting my left index finger with your mouth."

"You're more than welcome." His tongue sweeps over his bottom lip briefly, her heart still racing. "And, by the way, I am actually a doctor." Sherlock felt a strange urge to brag to her, to show off. Although he loved to show off at any given opportunity to anyone who might listen, this was different. He wanted to impress her, and a lot.

"What?"

"I've got a PhD in chemistry." He smiles playfully. "So you'll be addressing me as Doctor Holmes from now on." Sherlock winks, but she doesn't seem affected.

"Hah, yeah, but you're not an _actual _doctor." He frowns in slight annoyance, feeling dissatisfaction at the non reply to his pathetic attempt of flirtation.

"Technically yes... I am."

"Not _really,_ though."

"Well, I am, though."

"No."

"Yes."

"...No."

"I am."

"N-"

"I swear to God, you say no one more time and I will-" He searched for something. "I'll... I'll-"

"Any moment now, Sherlock."

"Shut up." He snaps, as she bites back a grin. "I'll text you something tonight. I always get the best comebacks when I'm in bed." She takes this in for a second, and then snorts in laughter, covering her face and looking away. "Oh, you can't be serious. That wasn't anywhere near a double entendre." She continues giggling. "It wasn't even- get your mind out of the gutter!"

"Sorry, sorry." She took a calming breath, although the laughter was admittedly nervous from the physical contact that he had brushed off so casually. Sherlock shakes his head.

"She's an expert in quantum physics, electromagnetic field theory and thermodynamics, yet she giggles at the words 'comeback' and 'in bed' when used in the same sentence."

"A strange mix of ingenious and idiocy."

"Ooo, you should have that put on your gravestone." A grin pulls at the corners of her mouth, as Sherlock looks to the offending, with the sharp edge coloured crimson. "Anyway, when have you ever drank elderflower rum?" Sherlock was fully interested in the conversation, amused and happy.

"I had a brief stint as a gay pirate." He chuckles, as he walks over to the kitchen table and she sets back to her work at the kitchen sink. Sherlock picks up a large clear glass litre bottle with only a white rectangular sticker over it as packaging.

"What's this one?" Ramona turns around, her eyes widening as she spots it in his hands.

"Woah, woah!" She looked as if he had just picked up a live bomb. "Put that down." She paces over and takes it out of his hands before he could follow her instructions. "It's called Braindead." He simply raises a brow.

"Imaginative and definitely not generic name." Ramona rolls her eyes.

"It's my friend Josh's homemade potato hooch. Makes you go blind." Sherlock frowns momentarily, cocking his head as if trying to remember something.

"Josh? Which one's Josh?"

"The blind one." She jokes. "In all seriousness though, it's eighty-five percent. Drink of Lucifer himself." She looks down briefly at it, before taking it over to the sink. "Just a couple of these, and say goodbye to your recollection of the entire night."

"Oh. _That_ old chestnut again." Sherlock puts two hands on the wooden table, raising his eyebrows in skepticism and looking around passive aggressively. "Funny how we _conveniently _forget things when we're drunk." He clicks the K at the end, causing Ramona to narrow her eyes, turning around and walking back to him.

"Not this again." She sighs heavily. "For the last time: It was a quick snog, with a stranger, at a party. And I don't even remember it happening. I was completely out of it!"

"Yeah." He looks above her in annoyance. "Or, so you claim." Ramona huffs at his attitude, setting the bottle of Braindead back down on the table.

"I thought you were my flatmate. Since when did you become my husband?"

"Yesterday. We got married." Sherlock's expression sets to stone as their gazes lock. "You probably wouldn't remember, you were drunk. Or at least pretending to be." She had had enough of him always being so strange about what she did, when it didn't concern him in the slightest.

"Why do you get so touchy when I get touchy with a guy? Why are you always so bloody righteous in our arguments?"

"Oh, I don't know," Sherlock crosses his arms defensively, rolling his eyes. "Why are you always so bloody wrongous?" She would have laughed had she not been so angry. "People don't _actually_ forget things when they're drunk. Nothing but a socially acceptable excuse for doing whatever you please."

"Alright, _lightweight_." She sets down two glasses in between them. "We'll settle this debate once and for all, the way they do where I come from." Ramona pours a small amount of Braindead into both. "Tomorrow, I bet my life that you won't remember anything from this point onwards."

"Fine." He picks up his glass, and she clinks her own to it. "Bring it on." Sherlock's eyes narrow.

Without a moments hesitation, they both neck the homemade toxicity back.

She forcefully puts her glass back on the table, eyes watering, as she looks up to Sherlock, who was grimacing away from it.

* * *

"Okay- okay-" Slurring her words and giggling, she raises a hand to Sherlock to get him to stop laughing. They were both sat cross legged on the living room floor. "Shh!" He laughs harder, but eventually stops. "I've got an idea."

"Really?!"

"Yeaaaahhhhh, is _so _good."

"Les hear it then." He reels backwards.

"Truth or... Dare!" She starts to laugh mischievously, as he gasps, as if she had just discovered the meaning of life.

"Amazin'! You firs though."

"Hhhmm... No you."

"'Kay. Err... Oh! Prank- prank call somebody in a fake accent." She grins, lazily pulling out her phone and scrolling through her contacts.

Ramona starts to giggle as she puts the phone to her ear, as Sherlock grins in anticipation.

"Hello, eez Mr Vall zere, please? " Her faux Russian accent made Sherlock snort with laughter, pinching his nose.

"No, There's no Mr Wall here, sorry." His eyes widen slightly at John's voice.

"Kan I speek viz Mrs Vall zen? " She stifles a laugh and hits Sherlock when he giggles

"There's... No Mrs Wall here, either."

"Vell, kan I speek viz Harry Vall? "

"There is no one here by that name, I'm afraid. Sorry." He sounded mildly annoyed, but a bit amused. She had used a cover on her phone so her caller ID wouldn't show up on his phone.

"So... Are zere _any_ Valls zere at all?"

"No, there are no walls in this house, as I've just said."

"Zen vat eez holding up yourr house?!"

They both burst out into loud laughter as she hangs up.

He falls onto his back, clutching at his stomach as he found he couldn't breath from the mirth, tears forming in his eyes, as she doubles over, pounding at the carpet with a fist at her pure comedic genius.

* * *

Sherlock opens his eyes groggily, disorientated and confused.

The alarm clock on his bedside table telling him that it was eight twenty-three in the morning. He cringed at the throbbing pain in his mind, indicating that he probably had some sort of hangover.

Wait, a hangover?

He sighs, for some reason feeling content, slowly closing his eyes as he briefly surveyed his surroundings.

Looking down, he froze.

A hand curled into a fist placed in the middle of his chest was the centre to his confusion, as he moved his right hand, poking it with curiousity, as if prodding an undiscovered animal with a stick.

"Oh, God!" Sherlock exclaims to himself, still prodding at the soft skin. "I can't feel my own hand!" He pokes it again. "I've had a stroke!" He cringes in horror.

His worries are quickly averted, however, as he frowns, pulling back the cover slightly to reveal his actual hand. Sherlock sighs with relief, wiggling his fingers.

"Oh,thank you, God." He relaxes again and lies back down onto his pillow, closing his eyes with a small smile.

Wait, since when did he have three hands?

His eyes shoot open.

"Oh, God!" He turns and shuffles back slightly, facing the other side of his bed with hesitation and dread.

He quickly pulls back the sheets from the pillow, revealing a head, their face covered by a pair of his underwear thrown over it.

Sherlock grimaces, as he raises an apprehensive hand towards the navy boxers, and pulling them away from his intruder.

On seeing Ramona's sleeping face, his throat tightens and his stomach drops.

"Ohhh, God!" He exclaims, slightly quieter.

Her eyes suddenly snap open to meet his.

Sherlock panics and quickly throws the boxers back over her face.

The hand that had been placed on his chest is taken off and used to grab a fistful of the material, throwing them over him to the floor on his side of the bed.

Sherlock's face is completely shocked and slightly afraid as he edges away from the confused girl, his foggy mind starting to work out theories as to how they could have ended up in this situation.

There was one concept that stuck out in his mind prominently.

"What are you doing in my room?" She asks him with a tired voice, brow furrowed. He would have laughed at her expression or perhaps internally raved about how adorable her tired voice was, had he not been so mortified.

"_Your_ room?" He throws back at her.

"Wait-" Sherlock watches as she looks around to see his bedroom, her face falling systematically. "Oh no." For some reason, he has the urge to get angry at this, but doesn't let it register emotionally.

"Have you been sleeping in my bed?" He asks, trying to remember something from last night.

"I've also been sitting in your chair and eating your porridge." Ramona replies with a worried tone. Sherlock snorts with laughter, before cringing at the pain it brought to his head.

"Why are you in here?" Her eyes narrow, before panic breaks out onto her expression.

"I can't remember." Ramona finally says. He racks his brain for any sort of recollection, and comes up empty-handed, his brow now creased.

"Me neither."

"Looks like this solves the memory loss mystery. Looks like I'm the winner." Sherlock was at a loss for words at how she managed to remain so competitive even at a time like this.

They both turn in synchronization, lifting the sheets to look down at their own bodies. His eyes widen in utter horror.

"Well, fuck." She mutters, as they both put down the covers, looking up to the ceiling.

"I take it you're naked as well." Sherlock desperately tries to remain calm, studying a minute crack in the white emulsion.

"It appears I kept my socks on. I've got my dignity." A pang runs through him, realising that Ramona was naked, in his bed, and inches away from his own unclothed body.

They're both looking away from each other and inspecting the ceiling awkwardly, as Sherlock cringes over and over again at his own stupidity. His own drunk self's stupidity.

He had finally plucked up the courage, and he couldn't even remember?! Idiot!

"Alright." Her voice brings him out of his self-deprecating trail of thought. "One of us needs to get out of this bed." Sherlock was glad that she could be the one with their head on straight, as despite the ways he protested, sex really did alarm him.

"Ladies first. This is my bedroom, after all." He says to the ceiling.

"Sherlock, you're going first."

"Okay." He answers quickly, voice slightly more high pitched than normal, before clearing his throat, returning to his usual baritone. "I'll go, but I'm taking the sheet with me."

She narrows her eyes and turns to him.

"Then I'll be sprawled out on the bed naked!" Her incredulous and worried tone did nothing to stop him from imagining, his face flushing slightly. His head whips to meet her gaze.

"Y-you can drop the dirty talk, you've snared me once already!" Her mouth drops open in outrage.

"Snared you! If I wanted to snare you, I wouldn't need a litre of eighty-five percent proof spirit. It could be done with a wine gum." His expression turns to one of mortification and disbelief at something that was obviously a joke.

"Fine, fine, have it your way!" He slides awkwardly out of the bed, covering his modesty with the sheet the whole time as she looked away, pulling the cover up so that it went from each underarm, resting up on her elbows.

Sherlock disappears for a moment, pulling on his boxers. Hearing the noise, she looks back at him. He looks around briefly in confusion.

"Where's my jeans?" Ramona looked annoyed at this.

"Well, I've got some of them now!" He presses his lips together, walking out of his bedroom.

* * *

Ramona appears moments later dressed back into last night's clothing, hair a mess just as his was. He was stood in the living room, unsure what to do with himself. Sherlock swallows at the atmosphere, at the realisation that it was one of awkwardness.

He clears his throat.

"How are you feeling?" Sherlock breaks the silence. She shakes her head, putting a hand through her hair the way he- the way he what?

"As if I've been pounded by some sort of jackhammer." He simply stares at her for a few moments in disbelief, blinking twice, before realising that it wasn't meant in that way. "Sorry."

"Arctic Monkeys." He states blankly, pointing over to her CD player. "Specifically, A M, your 'sex album.'" Ramona swallows in mortification, her face turning red. "Tea-lights." He gestures over to the living room table. "You." Sherlock points over to the coffee table. "Incense." He swallows. "You."

She moves over silently to the sofa, pushing and fluffing back up the leather backs which had fallen the night before. He walks over to help her, and their hands touch as they both go for the same spot. Ramona instantly recoils away from him, as if he had some sort of disease.

"Sorry." She blurts, looking down, hiding her face.

"Can you stop apologizing?" Sherlock frowns at her.

"Sorry- I mean-" Ramona blurts. "Er- I'll meet you in the middle." Her eyes widen. "That's not a euphemism for-"

"Stop talking."

"Sorry." Sherlock takes a moment, and then, sighs. He turns and sits down on the couch, patting the seat next to him.

"Sit down."

She does as instructed, silently, putting her elbows on her thighs and her face in her hands, making herself small next to him.

"If we're going to get past this, we need to agree on a set of terms. Firstly, you have to stop flinching away from-" He stops in his tracks, realising that her frame was shaking with silent sobs.

A pang runs through him, unsure how to handle the situation, although extremely troubled and humiliated that she was brought to tears by the fact that they had slept together.

"That repulsive, eh?" He tentatively goes to put a hand on her lower back, but quickly realises that that was probably the last thing she wanted at the moment.

"I'm so sorry, Sherlock. I'm so sorry." She manages to get out, calming down slightly, wiping her face and turning to him. His brow creases in confusion, unsure as to what it was she was apologizing for.

"Sorry? What are you saying sorry for?" She looked extremely guilty, not being able to look him in the eyes as she spoke.

"I- I-" Ramona's eyes start to fill, and he worried that she would break down again. "You were a virgin yesterday, Sherlock." His eyes widen in the realisation that he had now lost that ridiculous label, and to her. "And me, with all my _stupid _naive love for getting mullered and my idiotic promiscuity, I've-" She looks away, resuming her last position, her words now slightly muffled from her hands. "I've taken that away from you." Sherlock frowns, still filled with confusion.

"I'm sorry, your point being?" He knew that it was normally a huge thing for people, but he wasn't a normal person, was he?

"It's supposed to be special, Sherlock. I think so, anyway." Ramona shakes her head. "The first time you have sex... It should be filled with emotions, and be with someone you really love, someone that means something to you, someone who's body you actually want to see. And I made it something disgusting and fumbling and dirty and awkward and something you can't remember even if you wanted to. It's another thing I've taken from you. Something else I've ruined for you." He watches in concern as she looks back in his vague direction. "I understand if you want me out of the flat." For the first time, Ramona looks into his eyes. "I'm so sorry, Sherlock. I don't expect you to forgive me."

His mouth parts in shock, and without thinking, his hand goes to cover hers, that was resting on her lap.

How could one person be so confusing? One moment she was sleeping with people purely to satisfy her sex drive, the next she was telling him that intercourse should be something tender and done only as a side effect of love.

"Ramona, I couldn't care less about any of that." She frowns in complete confusion at his erudite expression. "I work with cold, hard reason, and that is what I hold closest to me. Even with all the logic in the world, I could never conceive a reason as to why I should feel I was taken advantage of." He watches, as her expression only worsens, making his heart sink.

"But that's what I did. I took advantage of you, and now you're excusing my unforgivable-"

"Just shut up, would you?" Sherlock interrupts, a slight smile tugging at his mouth, from her endearing, innocent side showing, the one she kept secret, the adorable one. "Honestly, it was going to happen at some point." Her eyes widen. "I- I mean me losing my virginity, not-" He swallows, and she laughs softly at his fumbling, causing him to chuckle, now fully smiling down at her. "Look, I'm sure you were very gentle with my delicate inexperience." She bites her lip in apprehensiveness. "However, and I hate to break it to you, I'm not the innocent flower you make me out to be, more the snake underneath." At this, her expression becomes incredulous.

"Macbeth references? Really? At a time like this?" He laughs again, and she breaks out into a grin, before sighing. "Well, I suppose... I suppose as long as it was someone who genuinely cares about you, and not just someone who wanted to try you on for size..." His eyes practically bulge out of his head at the statement. "I wouldn't want anyone to break your-"

"Well, I hope you two are proud of yourselves." They both freeze, turning in synchronization and disbelief with wide eyes to the source of the noise.

To their utter humiliation and shock, Hannah was stood before them, in their living room. Ramona cries out in surprise, jumping back as if she had seen a creature from the deep.

"What the-?! Be gone, demon! Sherlock, get the holy water!" Ramona presses herself to the sofa, making a cross with her fingers at Hannah jokingly, causing Sherlock to bite back a grin.

"_You_ disgust me." She states, her voice thick with anger, and they both realise what she was talking about. "Almost as much as Ramona's bedroom does." She addresses Ramona, who looks embarrassed. "I normally have a shower in the morning, but after sleeping in that pigsty, I think I'm going to give myself a good scrub down with some sandpaper."

She goes to storm out of the room.

"What's wrong with my bedroom?! I'm an absentminded intellectual, it's my gimmi-" Ramona is cut off by the door slamming behind Hannah.

Sherlock turns quickly to Ramona with an outraged face, but more frightened and disbelieving.

"What the hell was Hannah doing here?!"

"Don't bloody ask me! She was meant to be away on holiday!" She shakes her head in incredulity.

"Come on- Think!"

He clicks his fingers once in front of her face, and suddenly, a small wooden flamenco dancer doll placed on a wooden stand begins dancing, it's red and black dress lighting up as it quickly swayed side to side, jingling slightly as loud Spanish guitar music played.

They both turn to it, and Sherlock snaps his fingers again, causing the flamenco dancer to stop.

"Was I exhibiting these powers last night?" He asks, fully confused, as she cringes.

"I just remembered. Hannah and Harry showed up last night."

* * *

"Hola, mis amigos!" Harry cries, holding a flamenco doll in one hand, and enthusiastically waving with another.

Sherlock stared at him vacantly for a few moments, holding the door open, before shutting it in his face, and reeling as he turned back to Ramona, who was sprawled out across the sofa.

It's Harry!" Sherlock shouts, but slurring his words hugely. "He's speaking Welsh and he's got a tiny new wife."

"Tell him we're dead!" Ramona orders, flailing her hand dismissively.

Sherlock turns and opens the door again.

"Ramona says we're dead." His glassy eyes get nothing from the man but '**?!**' and '**DISTURBANCE**'.

"But we've brought two hours of holiday videos!"

"Tell him we wish we were dead!" Ramona shouts, as Sherlock bursts out into loud mirth.

* * *

"They're never going to let us forget about this." Back in the present, her brow furrows in worry. "I can't cope with that."

"And you care why, exactly?"

"Don't worry." She says, almost to herself. "I'll talk to her." Ramona nods. "I'm guessing you want to keep this a secret as much as me, so let's make sure no one else ever finds out about this."

"Good morning, you _cheeky_ little rascals!" They both freeze, looking up to see Harry walking through their flat. "Sore heads this morning, have we?" He winks, before leaving.

* * *

"Will... Harry be joining us?" Ramona starts, apprehensive towards her fuming best friend. They sit on stools at the bar of a busy, trendy new pub.

"No, he's gone back to your place to collect a few things." Hannah replies. "You might have noticed we left in a hurry this morning."

"Of course. We notice everything, it's our thing." She shoots Ramona a warning look, causing her to sigh. "Was... Was it someone I did?- Something!" Ramona swallows, seeing Hannah produce a fiver from her coat pocket. "Don't get me a drink." She feels sick at just the thought of alcohol.

"I wasn't going to." Hannah snaps.

"Oh... Good." She looks around, fidgeting with her hands. "I've taken the pledge." Hannah snorts in laughter.

"Skipping the lighter stuff and going straight to drinking bleach, are we?"

"Look, Hannah, it was the alcohol. I can't even remember anything. I realise you must be disappointed-"

"Well, let me tell you a story. Me and Harry came straight from the airport."

"I know, I just can't remember."

"We brought you a dancing flamenco doll."

"Again; I know, I just can't remember."

"Harry told you all about the distinctive architecture of post-Franco Madrid and all it's museum exhibitions." Hannah sighs. "I suppose we'll have to tell you that all over again too."

Ramona's eyes widen in horror.

"That- that bit's fine, actually, remember _all_ of that clearly."

"Oh, you can, can you? And do you remember your stinking attitude?"

"I normally have one of those anyway, but-" She breaks off at the death glare she received, and laughs nervously. "Jog my memory, would you?"

"You and Sherlock making out-"

"Me and Sherlock making out?!" Hannah sighs in exasperation, as Ramona's face reddens at the involuntarily blurted out thought.

"Why've you got such a one track mind? You and Sherlock, making out Harry was the most boring man on the planet."

"E- er, to us, everything's quite boring. We didn't mean it."

"Oh really?"

* * *

"Apparently, it's the presence of cornicing rather than roof eaves that show it's early 17th century." Harry tells Ramona, sat next to her on the sofa, pointing at a photo.

Ramona scoffs and turns away, rolling her eyes.

"You _really_ are the most boring man on the face of the earth."

"Yeah." Sherlock adds, reeling with her. "And guess what?" He raises his eyebrows lazily. "We mean it."

They both start to laugh, as she puts a hand on his upper thigh, turning to each other and high fiving.

* * *

"I wanted to storm out there and then, but you made us drink some of that Braindead. There was no way we were driving after that."

"Oh, so that's why you stayed over?"

"Yeah, unfortunately." She shook her head, before turning back to Ramona. "The only reason I'm not in a serious mood, and I mean only, is that you gave me and Harry your bed and agreed to sleep on the sofa."

"Sorry- sleep on the sofa?" Hannah frowned in confusion at her question as she licks her lips.

"Well, where else would you sleep? We were in your bed, Sherlock was in his."

"So... that's why you're angry, that's it? Just because we called him boring? Don't take it to heart, this _is_ Sherlock we're talking about."

"There's not something else I should be angry about, is there?" Ramona's eyes widen, indicating Hannah had hit the nail on the head. "There is, isn't there? Something else happened! You called us other names, didn't you?"

Ramona nodded slowly with a pursed mouth.

"...Yes. That is what happened."

How desperately she wanted to scream that she had had sex with Sherlock, but she would never do that to him. The worst part was that she couldn't remember it. Not one bit.

"It was just the drink talking, Hannah. Can't we move on and forget it ever happened?" Ramona feels her heart beat in her ears as her friend debates this painstakingly slowly. "I mean, it's not like you're a saint or anything."

"Fine, you're forgiven." Hannah sighs, making Ramona break out into a grin.

Everything would be fine. After all, they were Sherlock and Ramona, they could get past anything with ease, never mind a stupid, ridiculous mistake that she really wished she could remember.

"Just make sure you give me back my video camera when you're finished with it."

Ramona frowns momentarily, and then, her eyes widen to the size of moons.

* * *

"Well?" Sherlock was sat in his chair, hands steepled in front of his face in the usual fashion, legs bouncing.

They're completely in the dark." Ramona closed the door behind her. "She thinks I slept on the sofa." She pulls her leather jacket off and puts it on the back of a dining table chair.

Sherlock lets out a small sigh of relief, admittedly not wanting it to spread that they were doing anything, as it could affect both of their reputations. Also, anything that got to his brother, he would never hear the end of. He could only imagine the knowing, deliberately infuriating smirks and eyebrow raises, clever little quips and snarks.

"When Harry came round to collect their stuff, he was clueless too."

"Not that that makes for a huge change." To her surprise, Sherlock starts to laugh way too heartily.

"That's funny." He points at her. "Sorry," He gets out, in between chuckles. "I'm so relieved, I'm a bit hysterical." She starts to fake laugh.

"That's okay, I bet I can find a way of wiping that smile off your face!" She replies, smiling sarcastically at him.

"I doubt that." He replies, wiping a tear of laughter from his eye.

"Oh, I do _love_ a challenge! Here we go!" She rubs her hands together, leaning forward and smiling. "Last night, me and you might've made a sex tape!"

At this, his expression changes completely, mouth falling open.

"I woke them up in the middle of the night to borrow her video camera." She shakes her head in disbelief, as Sherlock stands up, staring at her.

"Let's just think logically, shall we?" His shakily calm voice was obviously a charade. "We are two of the cleverest people on the face of the earth. Perhaps we initially intended to make a sex tape, but there's no possibility that we'd actually do it."

"Well, there's an easy way of finding out."

"Where's the video camera?"

"I don't know." She said simply, setting off down the hallway.

"You're going to look in my bedroom?" Ramona rolled her eyes, turning around to face him, sarcasm lacing her tone.

No, Sherlock, I'm going to contact the makers of You've Been Framed in case we sent it in." She turned back around. "At least we could split the two hundred and fifty pounds."

Ramona walks through the doorway, trying not to feel the intense atmosphere now that she was back at the scene of the crime, trying not to feel the insane amount of guilt that plagued her.

She looked around, as he walked over to his wardrobe, where one of the doors were pushed open.

He closes the door of the wardrobe.

"I found my jeans." Sherlock says, causing her to look in his direction.

A video camera was mounted on a tripod facing the bed directly, Sherlock's jeans hung over the back of it. Her mouth parts in shock.

"Have you got a tripod in you trousers, or are you just pleased to see me?" She grins at her own joke, as Sherlock looks to Ramona, giving her a 'really?' look.

* * *

Ramona pulls a dining table chair out, placing it next to Sherlock's leather chair, where he was currently sat.

"It's four hours long." Butterflies ripple violently in her stomach, thinking of all the things she could do in four hours with him. God, what was wrong with her? Why was she such a perverted... Pervert?!

"I have techniques for making things last." She remarks, realising that she definitely made jokes as a defence mechanism at the most inappropriate of times.

"Well, we're about to see a full demonstration." He replies, equally as joking.

"Yeah, I was debating on writing a thesis about the positive correlation between time spent in sessions in the bedroom and intelligence."

"Interesting. But completely useless." This makes her laugh, and his face lights up at the sound. "Oh, God." Sherlock suddenly blurts out, physically grimacing.

"What?"

"Just thinking about Harry."

"That's one of my techniques, actually." A grin tugs at the corners of his mouth.

"I meant if he'd have seen this. If they'd of watched this."

"Look, Sherlock..." He turns from the television screen to her. "This isn't going to be... It's not pretty, alright, so if you don't think you can stomach it-"

"Jesus Christ, Ramona!" He shouts, utter frustration getting the best of him, shocking her. "I know how sex works! I've got a perfectly normal sex drive! I'm a detective, not a priest! Fill in the blanks!" He shakes his head, rolling his eyes, and turns back to the screen, as Ramona's eyes widen, her face burning.

"Oh- Okay, sorry." She takes a quiet calming breath, finding out that having Sherlock shout in her face about how he had a perfectly normal sex drive was something strangely satisfying.

Mind you, Sherlock could read out the dictionary to her, and she'd still find it thrilling.

"Here we go." She says, as the tape starts.

Sherlock casually outstretches an arm, retrieving a big glass bowl of popcorn and leaning back, putting it on his lap and putting one in his mouth, chewing nonchalantly.

Her eyes widen, as she bites back a laugh.

"Is that popcorn?!" He frowns in confusion, and then shrugs, not taking his eyes off the screen. "We're not at the cinema, Sherlock!"

"Shhh." He puts a finger to his mouth, and she laughs lightly, as they both turn to the television.

An opening shot of a man was revealed, and Ramona shook her head in embarrassment.

"'Come on, then, let's do it." They both look up at the voice in shock, on hearing Hannah's voice.

"Oh, my God." Ramona whispers.

"When in Spain, do as the Spaniards do." Harry was using a fan on himself, lying on a bed with his back rested on the headboard, as Hannah sat down next to him.

"I've told you once already, Hannah, I'm not gonna do it." Sherlock raises a brow. "The answer's no."

"_This_ is their holiday video." The relief in Sherlock's voice was paramount.

"Oh, come on, it'll be fun."

"It's not fair on the animals." Ramona's eyes widen. "I mean... You wouldn't go to a bullfight, so why would you go to a flamingo dance?" She snorts in laughter, putting a hand to cover her face as she laughed.

"If this was the tape in the camera,"

"It means we didn't make a sex tape!" Ramona grins widely.

"Oh, thank God!" She cries, sitting back and sighing with relief.

"However, I'm surprised Hannah didn't ask Harry to pick this up when he came round." Sherlock reasons.

"Yeah, but you know what Harry's like." Her hand goes to face, looking up to the heavens, silently thanking God. "He'd probably mess it up and take the wrong tape."

They both laugh, sharing a look, before their eyes widen in synchronicity.

"OH MY GOD!" She shouts, as Sherlock appears distraught.

"Harry has our sex tape!" He exclaims, as Ramona fumbles with her phone, quickly scrolling through her contacts and putting it to her ear.

"Harry, hi." She begins, sharing a worried look with Sherlock.

"I want to hear this." He mouths, and Ramona nods. She puts her phone onto speaker mode, holding the phone in between their heads as they both leaned in, listening intently.

"Harry, when you came round earlier, did you get everything you needed? Nothing... Left behind?"

"Er, no, nothing." They share another look, before realising how close their faces were, and looking back down at the phone. "It was just a few things. Jacket, phone, chargers..." He closes his eyes in relief, leaning back. "Holiday video."

She almost screams in fear, putting a hand to her mouth in shock, as she gestured with wide eyes.

"S-so you found it with no trouble?"

"Oh, yeah, it was in the camera." He pauses. "When I took the tape out I saw a spare tape lying next to the camera, so I put that one in for you."

"Where's the tape now?!"

"Well, funny you should call, 'cause we're sat here just about to watch it." His eyes widen hugely, as they both jump up.

"NO! NO!"

"Sorry? What's going on?"

"Er, we just don't think you should watch it." She reasons.

"Why?"

"Because..." She looks up to Sherlock, who shrugs animatedly with tensed hands and wide eyes. "Because we want you to come round here and watch it with us!" He nods approvingly, as she gives a thumbs up. "Our way of saying sorry for showing no interest in your holiday video."

"Erm, well, yeah, I suppose that'd be nice..." She jumps in delight, surprised that they could actually be getting away with it. "...But I don't think Hannah or your Mum and sister want to come round at this time of night."

She lets out a small squeak of horror.

"Why are you with my Mum and sister?!"

"You know Hannah's basically another daughter to your Mum. We're staying overnight, handing out presents, talking about the holiday."

"OH GOD NO!" She practically screams down the phone, fully panicking.

"Can we get on and watch this ruddy tape?"

"Sorry, Ramona, gotta go."

"NO!" She gestures wildly at the phone, as Sherlock watches, his mind working quickly to try and find a solution. "Harry, put me on speakerphone." He does as instructed. "Hello Mum, Ciara!"

"Ooo, hello sweetie." Her mum's voice.

"Oh for God's sake." Ciara exclaims.

"Ciara! No blasphemy in this house!"

"It's ridiculous o-clock, and we've got to get through four hours of watching people fiddling with maracas and riding around on smelly donkeys."

"I think she's on to us." Ramona hisses to Sherlock. She points down at the phone, wanting him to say something.

"Er- how are you going to watch it? We've got your camera." She grabs his hand and squeezes it momentarily in happiness, nodding that it was a good excuse, leaving him to stare at her with wide eyes.

"My tape fits Ciara's camera."

"Yeah, we've really had a stroke of luck there, haven't we!" Her mum says.

"Oh, you'll be having another stroke before you can say Catholic." Sherlock mutters.

"Hello, Sherlock!" The elderly Irishwoman can be heard with a cheerful tone.

"Haven't seen much of you lately." Ciara adds.

"Ooo. Give it a minute." Ramona laughs silently as he clicks the t at the end, despite the situation.

"Well, wait for me, I want to watch it with you."

"You should have shown this sort of interest when you had the chance."

"Then wait until tomorrow and I'll come over."

"Don't be so silly, we're watching it now." Ciara replies.

"Yeah. Press play, Harry." Hannah says.

Ramona's eyes almost bulge out of her head, as her palms start to sweat, jumping about for something to say.

"YOU HATE ME!" She shouts, and when Sherlock frowns she shrugs frantically.

"What?" Her mum asks.

"You've always hated me! That's why I'm not a part of this precious video-watching sesh! You've always loved Ciara and Hannah more than me!"

"How can you say that, Mona?"

"It's like that time we went to the farm and you ignored me and gave Ciara all the attention!"

"She had just had a panic attack."

"Yeah, I _had _just been got cornered by the livestock." Ramona narrows her eyes incredulously.

"It was a butterfly farm!" Sherlock snorts with laughter, covering his mouth, causing her to hit him on the arm with a bit back grin. "And just because of that, Mum let you sit in the front the whole way home!"

"Oh, you can't be serious." Ramona could imagine Ciara folding her arms and rolling her eyes.

"It's not fair! You hate me!" She shouts, and looks up to Sherlock, who mouths a word to her.

"Adopted."

"I bet I was adopted!" She hears Ciara scoff.

"You can't be adopted, we're identical you_ absolute _dipshit!" Her mum sighs in defeat.

"Fine, put that camera away."

"YES!" She hisses, out of earshot from the phone.

"So you can calm down, Ramona, we won't watch it until you're here." Hannah says.

"For heaven's sake. Is _everyone_ in this family completely insane?" Ramona could almost see Ciara shaking her head in exasperation.

She briefly thought what a good match she could be to Mycroft, but quickly dismissed the thought as extremely disturbing. After all, if they got married, and then Sherlock and her got married, that would make them all a freakish square of siblings, and that- She really shouldn't be fantasizing about marrying Sherlock at this exact moment. Maybe later.

"We'll wait until the morning." Harry says, putting the phone down.

They look back up to each other, as Ramona breaks into a grin.

"Impressively done." He puts his hands in his pockets.

Ramona's eyes widen as the tension from the prolonged eye contact turns into something that felt tangible in the atmosphere. She feels her heart rate speed up getting lost in his gaze, as his eyes narrow.

The girl quickly comes back to her senses, looking away and clearing her throat, going over to where her jacket was.

"Come on. It's a long journey." He raises a brow as she throws him his coat. "Bring your popcorn."

* * *

Ramona walks up to the door of the house in the pitch black, closely followed by Sherlock, carrying a torch.

"How are we getting in?" She turns and picks up a brick, pointedly handing it to him. He takes it as she ducks down again, sighing as if put upon, before breaking the glass of a pane in the door.

She shoots up quickly, looking from the glass to him incredulously and in outrage.

"She keeps a spare key under the brick!" Ramona holds the key up to him.

"Ah."

They reach the living room, Sherlock reaching blindly for the handle in the dark and walking inside. He turns around as she follows, closing the door gently behind her.

Ramona suddenly trips over a wire that wasn't normally on the floor, stumbling and falling onto Sherlock, who takes the weight by stepping back and landing on the sofa, her now on top of him. She was glad it was so dark so that he couldn't see just how red her face was.

"We're making a habit of this, aren't we?" Ramona laughs nervously, trying to make a joke out a very awkward situation. "Two nights on the run..." Her heart rate increases dramatically as a hand slides up her thigh. "Banging round together in the dark."

"Oh, Ramona." She can barely make out his eyes in the dark, as his face gets so close that she can almost taste the mint on his breath. "You said that you feel guilty for sleeping with me." Her hands find the lapels of his coat of their own accord, completely shocked at his serious tone. "But I don't believe you. I think you're just sexually frustrated." His nose is inches away from hers, as he stares into her wide eyes. "I suggest you repent by-"

"Mona Doherty!" Light suddenly filled the room, following the snap of a lightswitch.

Ciara stood at the doorway wrapped in a dressing gown. Sherlock sighs heavily in annoyance, leaning back on the back of the sofa and closing his eyes.

Ramona quickly gets up from Sherlock, face flushed and slightly dazed.

"I- you- Do you bloody live here or something?!"

"I was staying the night!" Her eyes drift to the frustrated man on the couch. "Sherlock." Not opening his eyes, he raises his hand.

"Hello. We were just passing by."

Thought we'd pop in and, uh..." Ramona looks to Sherlock. "What did we pop in for, Sherlock?"

"A quickie."

"Yeah." She nods slowly, before doing an outraged double take. "Wait-!"

"What the hell's going on?" Harry appears behind Ciara, followed by Hannah and the twin's mother.

"Oh, I know why they're here." Hannah folds her arms, as they walk into the room. "They're feeling bad about not being such dicks last night, so now they're trying to look keen."

The two exchange a look, before turning back to them, nodding.

"That's good." Ramona says. "I mean- that's right."

"For God's sake, let's just watch this bloody thing now. Unless you've got anybody else with you." Ciara walks over to the television.

"Not now! I don't want to!"

"Bloody hell, talk about mixed signals." Ramona raises her eyebrows.

"You're telling me." She couldn't find the courage to look pointedly at Sherlock, and he frowns in confusion.

"What's going on, Mona?" Her mum asks, and Ramona struggles for words. However, Hannah's eyes are already widening in realisation.

"There's something on that tape, isn't there?" Ramona's eyes almost bulge out of her head, palms starting to sweat with nerves.

"Something you don't want us to see."Ciara adds.

"Don't be absurd." Sherlock replies.

"Of course there isn't, Ciara." Ramona was extremely anxious.

"Don't worry, love, we believe you." Her mum says, walking over and rubbing her back, and then looking to Ciara. "If your sister says there's nothing on there, you should accept it. She wouldn't lie." She only felt more guilty at this. Why was she such a terrible, terrible person?

"Yeah, cheers, Mum." The woman walks over to the television.

"And when we watch this tape, you'll see how wrong you were." Her mum adds.

"You can't watch it!" Ramona cries.

"I don't know what's on that tape exactly, but whatever it is, it made you break in here in the middle of the night, so we're finding out." Ciara points to the sofa, next to Sherlock. "Now sit down, and shut up." Ramona's mouth falls open in anger.

"You can't boss me about!"

"Yes I can." She desperately searches for something to say, and comes up with her last resort.

"You hate me, Ciara!"

"Yeah. What's your point?" Ramona looks down, before accepting defeat, and going over to Sherlock.

She was embarrassed, having been told what to do by her sister in front of Sherlock, proving to yet another person that she was the unsatisfactory twin.

"You don't have a defibrillator on you, do you?" Ramona whispers to him, making him raise a brow.

"No, why?"

"'Cause my mum's gonna have a heart attack, and we're going to need to resuscitate her." His mouth twitches into a smirk at this.

She looks over at Sherlock, who was leaning back, arm along the back of the sofa, completely calm.

"Que sera sera." She tightens her jaw at his composure.

"Are you really quoting Doris Day?!" Ramona hisses. "When my mum's about to see you fucking me?"

His face goes completely blank, staring vacantly in front of him for a few moments. She groans in despair, putting her face in her hands.

"I want to die."

"We- we still don't know it's a sex tape."

"Balance of probability, Sherlock." He debates this, and then nods slowly.

Everyone takes their seats, watching the screen, as it buzzes and then turns on.

Ramona's heart sinks at the sight of a drunk her stood in Sherlock's bedroom, directly addressing the camera.

"Hello, ladies and gentlemen, and welcome to Sherlock and Ramona's sex tape."

"Someone kill me."

"Talk about spoiling the ending." He mutters to Ramona, trying to cheer her up.

"One second, I'm just going to get his kit off."

She turns to reveal a sleeping Sherlock under the sheets, Ramona's eyes widening.

Oh, God. She hadn't, had she?

"This is starting to resemble a Crimewatch reconstruction." He remarks, as her face burns with humiliation and self loathing.

"I'm so sorry."

Sherlock was now only in his underwear, still completely unconscious, mouth parted ever so slightly.

"Now let the fun and games begin." Her past self slurs, now next to Sherlock on the bed.

Present Sherlock couldn't take his eyes off the screen, completely mesmerized, as she leaned into his unconscious face.

"Something tells me we're not about to watch Countdown." Hannah mutters.

"I'll have two from the top and one from the bottom." Sherlock adds, almost silently.

"I promise not to hurt you, babe." Her hand disappears into his hair, and Ramona watches behind her hands.

Suddenly, her past self starts to laugh, creasing into a fit of giggles, looking back to the camera.

"Yeah, right!" Ramona throws her head back in laughter, pointing at the camera. "In your dreams!"

Sherlock cocks his head in confusion, brow creasing, as Ramona slowly brings her hands away from her face with wide eyes in hope.

"There won't be any sleeping together tonight, mate!"

"That's a shame-" He turns to her. "Look, I was all over you."

"There's a reason I'm doing all this, Sherlock." Her drunk self addresses him directly. "It's so that tomorrow morning, you'll think we've slept together and you won't remember, because despite your smart comments about me snogging that random guy, alcohol _does_ make you forget! My theory is proved correct! And when I show you this video, It'll be proved once and for all that I can outsmart you!" She giggles deviously. "And then who's going to look like the idiot? Eh?! Mr I don't get alarmed by _Sex_!"

"I know this one." Ramona points to herself.

"Good night, ladies and gentlemen, you are welcome for witnessing my brilliance! This has been Ramona Doherty, BBC Pissed, Sherlock's bedroom." She leans back, covering herself with the white sheet, and promptly falling asleep.

Everyone's astonished at them, slowly turning towards the pair, who were looking at each other, completely baffled.

"We didn't sleep together." He starts.

"We didn't sleep together!" She repeats, relief flooding her.

"It's funny, isn't it? Your holidays are never quite the way you remember them." Hannah remarks.

"I don't get it, though." Ciara says, causing them both to break out of their bubble, looking at her. "If you're going out, why would he care about thinking that you slept together?"

Ramona's eyes widen, realising that everyone in this room thought something different about the two.

"Er... Um..." She says the first thing that comes to mind. "We're both celibate-"

"Waiting until marriage." They say it at the same time. Ciara raises a disbelieving eyebrow.

"You're waiting until marriage to be celibate?"

"...Yes?" She tries.

"Marriage?!" Hannah cries, not knowing that she had lied to her family about their relationship. Sherlock swallows, looking from Ramona and then back to Hannah.

"Also yes." Sherlock confirms.

"But what about you saying you snogged someone at a party?" Ramona gives her sister a death glare, knowing full well she just wanted to show her up.

"Er... We're in an open relationship." Ramona replies, as Sherlock nods, obviously trying not to laugh.

"An open-?!" Her mother begins, before putting a hand to her own forehead. "I need to lie down."

At this, Ramona and Sherlock burst out into laughter.

* * *

"I watched the rest of the tape." Sherlock says, as Ramona walks from the kitchen to the living room, towards him, handing him a cup of tea and a chocolate digestive, as she curls up in her own chair. "We're safe."

"You've just watched me and you sleep for four hours? Sounds interesting." Ramona smiles to herself, feeling warm, comfortable and cosy in the warm flat, fully satisfied with Sherlock.

"Well, it wasn't just sleeping." He replies, taking a sip of tea. She turns to him, with a raised brow. "There was a bit of snoring and cuddling to keep up the excitement." Her face starts to warm with a blush. "Did you know you talk in your sleep?" Her eyes widen.

"What?"

"Yeah." He changes the input to normal television. "Rubbish, mostly. Something about angels." She breathes a silent sigh of relief.

"I see." She's not sure what to say.

"You did say my name twelve and a half times, though." Her face falls, doing a double take.

"W-?!" A smirk plays at his lips as he looks to Ramona, who was trying to act nonchalant. "I suppose it's hardly surprising." She shrugs a bit too quickly. "I spend most of my time around you, so of course I'm going to have nightmares." She bites back a grin at his raised brow at the mention of 'nightmares'.

"Well, don't worry, it wasn't loud enough to wake me up." He turns back to the screen, unknowingly smiling to himself.

A few moments are spent like this, where Ramona relaxes fully, pulling out her phone to check her social networks.

"Something like this was bound to happen at some point, anyway." She frowns, turning to him, heart speeding up ever so slightly.

"What?"

"Balance of probability. A young, smart and attractive flatmate- you're bound to be tempted." She snorts with laughter, before realising the joke had been something that could have been taken as a compliment. What was that? A backhanded compliment?

"Bit of a close shave though, wasn't it?"

"It's hard to say- it was out of focus." She laughs as he brings his mug up to his mouth to hide the wide grin planted firmly on his face.

"So..." She swallows. "Hypothetically speaking... What if we did?"

"Sorry?" He turns to her with a brow creased from confusion.

"What would we have done if it turned out we _had_ slept together?" He thinks about it briefly, before sharply intaking a breath and turning back to her.

"Well I imagine I'd want to do that thing with my hands where-"

"I don't mean in bed!" She shouts over him, although she was extremely curious as to what he wanted to do with his hands. "I-" Ramona clears her throat. "I mean in the aftermath. After we'd had sex."

"Well, we'd be grown up for once, and do what men and women always do in those situations." She nods slowly at his maturity. "We'd both have pretended nothing's happened, you'd have had a nice long hot bath, and I'd have gone down the pub and told all my mates." She cracks up at this.

"You've only got one mate and he's the respectable John Watson."

"That's true." He shrugs, as if allowing her hypothesis. "Fine, I'd have taken that bath with you." Ramona's eyes widen as she struggles to control her ridiculously vivid imagination.

"Do you enjoy flustering me?" He shrugs with a smirk.

"It passes the time." She shakes her head with a small laugh, taking a sip of her hot chocolate.

"Well, for what it's worth, I'm glad I didn't sleep with you." Sherlock raises a brow at her. "As proven today, it'd only make things awkward."

"Would of been interesting, though, don't you think?"

"Interesting how, exactly?"

"Admittedly, I'm mildly curious to see what all the fuss is about, but I worry it would detract from my concentration during cases. Perhaps we could turn it into an experiment. For example; levels of arousal at different times in the day, visual vs auditory stimulation, how long it'd take to actually pass out from exhaustion." Sherlock takes a drink of tea, crossing his legs. "We could write a thesis."

Ramona stares vacantly straight forward, fighting her self-control to within an inch of it's life.

"You..." She turns to Sherlock. "You realise you just dirty talked me, yeah?"

"Oh?" He cocks his head. "Huh. Surprisingly easy." Her face blushes furiously, fully flustered, wondering if he knew what he was doing.

"Look, Sherlock," Their eyes lock, and she realises that his gaze was that of a predatory nature, his body language one of complete dominance. "Er- look, um, Sherlock,"

"...Yes?"

"If- if you ever- If-" She couldn't do it. Ramona found that she just couldn't force the words out.

"If I ever...?" She decides to give up, knowing that it was stupid, and that she'd only embarrass herself further, making up something else to say on the spot.

"If you ever find someone that you want to, you know, with, then let me know."

"Why?"

"Because they must be one hell of a person, and I'd want to meet them." She grins, turning to him, but cant read his expression as he stares at her. "Also, I'd want to size them up." At this he cracks a smile. She sighs. "Looks like a nightcap's out of the question."

"Probably not a good idea anyway." Sherlock turns back to the television. "Especially with my head; still hurts."

"Same here." She nods, absentmindedly putting an index and middle finger to her left temple.

"Just think how much worse I'd have felt if I hadn't just been pretending to drink that stuff last night." He casually remarks.

Ramona's eyes widen, turning to him in outrage, about to say something.

At this point he looks towards her with a mischievous grin.

"Got you." Sherlock points towards her, to signify the last thing he had said was a joke.

She lets out a sigh of relief and bites back a laugh, before turning away, shaking her head.

"You're getting as bad as me." Ramona mutters from behind her mug.

"You're a bad influence."

They both smile, turning to each other, gazes locking intensely, spending what felt like an eternity simply looking at each other, unsaid words filling the air around them.

"I'm going to bed." She says, finally breaking away with flushed cheeks, standing up shakily, her heart fluttering under her clothes.

"Yes. See you in the morning." Is all he gets out, as she walks away to her bedroom.

Sherlock stares after Ramona even after she had left, before a small smile appears on his face, quickly growing to a wide grin, until eventually a chuckle broke the silence, covering his mouth as his body shook with laughter.

"Lovable idiot." He mutters, shaking his head and turning back to the television.

* * *

**A bit of romcom for you to break up the seriousness of it all! **

**Did this annoy you? Or did you enjoy it? Idk, it was getting hard to write them so angsty.**

**Thanks for reading, even more love if you leave a review :)**


	59. Come On Home

**Come On Home - Franz Ferdinand**

**I don't own Sherlock!**

* * *

"Look, it's nothing to get so angry about." Ramona reasons, throwing a towel towards a drenched Sebastian, now back in the house, and in a fresh set of clothes.

She was terrified that they would suspect her memories had returned. However, she was a good actress. A brilliant one.

"Really?" Moriarty- or Jim, was having a bit of trouble understanding her reasoning in throwing herself into the ocean. She didn't blame him. "Sebastian, tell her."

The intimidating man sighs, his face disappearing for a moment under a white towel, as he rubbed his wet hair.

"I was the one who jumped in after her, I don't know why _you're _so angry." Moriarty looked outraged at his exasperated second in command.

_They're like Sherlock and John, but a really dark version. Instead of solving crimes, Jim has a flair for making them successful. Instead of blogging, Sebastian hunts tigers. Two sides of the same Batman-and-Robin-esque coin, apart from the whole killing tigers thing. That's fucked up. _

"An explanation. And be snappy about it." Ramona tried to look meek.

"I-I-" She stuttered falsely, narrowly avoiding the impulse to shout back at him. She could tell him that Sherrinford had hit her, but decided to keep that little fact to herself. Ramona briefly wondered just how outraged Jim would be, or if he'd even care in the slightest. "I'm sorry. I was having fun with Anna, but I slipped." Moriarty raised a brow.

What did he want with her? More importantly, were they actually brother and sister? The explanation he had given her was perfectly logical and could make perfect sense, and if frightened her that she could actually be directly related to The Consulting Criminal.

She had to sort out her mind. Repair her dilapidated mind palace, which she hadn't used since she had gotten here. Make a list of priorities, and a plan to escape.

However, she already knew her first priority. Sherlock's safety, as frustrating as it was, would come first and foremost before anything else, there was no debate about it.

"That's what all the servants said. The girl- Anna- she was in hysterics when we got here, so it does make sense." Sebastian reasons. Ramona thanks her lucky stars that the maid was so mentally fragile.

Would her death have ruined Moriarty's plan? Was that why he was so angry? Because of the lengths he had gone to to keep her alive, and then she went jumping off cliffs?

"Why are you here, anyway?" Ramona asks, sitting down at the dining table opposite Moriarty, who was sat next to Sebastian. Jim raises an eyebrow at her bluntness. "It's not every day I get the pleasure of the company of my big brother and his boyfriend, after all."

Ramona almost bursts out into laughter, sniggering silently at a now probably fuming Moriarty, and a shocked Sebastian.

_God, it's good to be back._

"You did play gay once to be fair, mate." Sebastian joins in, obviously not caring about the quip also being directed at him, because he was secure in his knowledge of not being in a relationship with Jim, and because Jim's angry face made him laugh. "And you were pretty convincing." Ramona plays dumb, but is still giggling, and Jim cracks a smile.

"The boxers were a nice touch, weren't they?"

"Ooo, really? Now _there's_ a story I want to hear." She wondered what he'd make up, not exactly being able to name drop in front of her.

At this, Moriarty turns to Sebastian with a death glare hidden underneath a tight smile.

"It's not information I'm in the mood to divulge." She raises her eyebrows, but shrugs, as two butlers appear in the room. ""Well, Sis, I just wanted to check on you."

_Yeah, you mean you wanted to check your prisoner hadn't escaped._

"I see." She replies, as three plates are set down in front of them, the comforting smell of good food hitting her hard.

"So, that concussion bring anything back at all?" A pang runs through her, but Ramona shows no reaction. After all, Moriarty could suspect that she had recovered from her amnesia, and this was just a test.

She picks up her glass and takes a drink, temporarily curing her dry mouth and allowing her to swallow without indicating any form of shock or fear, also to stall for time. Moriarty watches her intently, and Ramona feels her heartbeat start to quicken.

_Would he kill me if he deduces that I'm back to myself? Yeah, I'd rather not find out._

She sets back the glass gently and calmly onto the wood.

"What d'you mean?" Ramona cocks her head. "Oh, you mean-" She points at her head, and then smiles. "Nah, I'm afraid not. That would of been lucky though, wouldn't it?"

His face suddenly lights up with a mad grin.

"Very." The tone of his voice sends a shiver of terror down her spine, as she smiles.

"Should we tell her now?" Sebastian asks Moriarty, causing her to frown in confusion.

"Oh, yes."

"What is it?" The Tiger smiles.

"Your eye." A hand instinctively rose to her eye. "It's back to normal."

* * *

Sherlock stands in the middle of the living room, his eyes darting from different parts of the wall, which was saturated with maps, CCTV screenshots of various people who he knew had previous connection with Moriarty, and a lot of other miscellaneous documents, some joined together with red marker.

Mrs Hudson's infamous 'yoohoo!' can be heard, as she enters.

"Ooo, Sherlock, look at the mess you've made." He frowns, looking over his shoulder briefly at her.

"Mess? This is the opposite of a mess."

"I beg to differ, young man."

"Look at the structure. Practically flawless."

There's a quiet knock at the open door.

"What's this?" Hannah's apprehensive voice, like a child who had been scolded.

"I've tracked down every single passenger on every single flight to France, private jets and people carriers, from every single airport in Britain, and nothing. No fake names, passports, not anything." Hannah sighs, but decides she should let him come to his own conclusion.

"So, basically, you found nothing?" She goes to the kitchen, helping Mrs Hudson with the tea.

"No. Just not anything _yet_."

_"Someone's unusually optimistic." _Ramona's voice echoes around his mind. He frowns and ducks his head, trying to get her out of his head, like he had an uncountable number of times before.

"Yeah. So nothi-" He shoots her a murderous look, and she stops in her tracks. "Er, could you-?" She holds up the plastic box, and he basically rolls his eyes without actually doing it, leaning forward and opening his mouth as she walked over, sticking the rectangle in his mouth to get a swab of DNA.

After doing this she give a polite smile, putting it back into the plastic box and waiting to see if it turned blue.

"You really think I could do any of this high?"

_"I think you could do it faster."_

"Um, no, but I'm just making sure." He swivels back round to his work. "How long've you been working on this?" He checks his watch.

"Thirty-six hours twenty-two minutes fifty-one seconds."

"That's... Precise."

"Mm. Oh, do me a favour, would you?"

"Yeah?"

"Shut up. I'm trying to think."

"...Ah." Hannah looks around in slight annoyance, swallowing and then stepping forward, speaking in a hushed tone. "Sherlock?" He sighs in annoyance, not turning to look at her.

"Yes?"

"No man is an island, you know."

"What about the Isle Of Man?" Hannah shakes her head in exasperation.

* * *

**Ramona**

"I'm surprised you asked me out."

Irene sits opposite from Ramona at a table in an exclusive restaurant.

"Yes, well, I wanted to have dinner." Irene's eyes widen for a moment, before she smiles, looking down at the menu.

"Have you changed your mind, then? About my proposition."

"Proposition?" Ramona's eyes narrow slightly, before she remembers. "Ah, that. I suppose I'll let it slip, for your sake."

"Let it slip?"

"Yeah, let you live for another second for trying to manipulate me into sex. If you answer a question, completely truthfully." Irene raises a neat brow.

"I'm all ears." Ramona leans forward, face completely serious.

"Who are you working for?"

The Woman takes a moment, before smirking.

"Miss Moriarty, I work for myself, and myself only."

_There are those cheesy lines again. God, could she get any more cliche? Okay, maybe I'm being over critical. But can I be blamed for that?_

"And one more, actually. Can I trust you?"

"Oh, it depends what you've got for me."

"Me, on your side when you need me to be. Isn't that what you 'misbehave' for?" Irene smiles, looking away briefly.

"You know, I always wanted to have dinner with a genius." Ramona grits her teeth. "However, I never thought it'd be with you."

"Well, you might not be able to get the detective, but the apprentice is all yours."

Irene's mouth parts in shock, looking over to her with wide eyes.

"W-what?"

"You owe me quite a bit, Irene."

"I'm sorry- you remember?"

"Obviously. Who do you think I am?" Irene swallows, before composing herself again.

"You know, I think I'll try the Batard Montrachet."

_Of course she wants the wine that comes at £5,393 a bottle. _

"What about you?"

"I'll have what you're having." Irene smiles to herself. "You've probably figured out that I'm not here to drink wine, Irene."

"No, you want to ask for a favour, but I want to enjoy my meal." Ramona resists the urge to roll her eyes.

"I'm sure you've gathered what the favour's about?"

"I'm guessing it has to do with a certain detective." She narrows her eyes, but realises that it really was the only viable option.

"You'd be correct."

"So, what is it you want me to do?" Ramona smiles, the conversation finally coming over to her side of the court.

"I need to borrow some clothes," Ramona leans back in her chair, not breaking eye contact. "A few bob, fake passport, and some of that drug you gave me and Sherlock years ago. A lot of it."

"And just what makes you think I'm going to comply with your demands?"

"I understand that the people I'm currently affiliating with are extremely dangerous. However, don't doubt for a second that I'm not _exactly _the same." Irene looks impressed for a moment.

"I don't adhere to bullies, Ramona."

"Oh, I'm not bullying you." She smiles. "I'm threatening you." Ramona shrugs.

"And what do you intend to do once you've escaped?"

"Probably travel, see the world, find myself." Sarcasm is apparent in her voice. "I'm going to move away, and I'm going to start with Moriarty's web. It's been recast, and it needs to be dismantled again. I imagine Sherlock can handle him."

"You do, do you?" Ramona's brow furrows in confusion slightly.

"Sorry?"

"What sort of mental state do you reckon he's in in this exact moment?" She thinks for a moment.

"I should imagine he's quiet, contemplating, probably confused."

"Oh, so not distraught in any way?"

"...I'm... Not following."

"As much as I hate to say it, he's heartbroken." Ramona scoffs, looking away.

"Him? Please. He didn't even cry when Ygritte died in Game Of Thrones." A small smile creeps onto her face as she reminisces.

_Actually, I think he did, but he was covering his face, and it was dark._

"I'm going to be truthful for a moment, Ramona."

"Makes a change." She mutters.

"I'm jealous of you." Ramona takes a second, disbelief flooding her.

"You? Jealous of me?"

"Don't let it go to your head, it's got nothing to do with you." Ramona frowns, perplexed.

"Okay, I'll admit you're giving me mixed signals." She looks away.

"It's because of your relationship with him." A pang runs through her, eyes widening and shooting up to make eye contact.

"My relationship? With-?" She laughs lightly. "Have you got the right person?"

"He cares about you... A lot." Irene sighs. "In a way I could never get out of him."

"It's funny, manipulation never seems to get a great reaction, does it?"

"I'll help you. I just want to know what you intend to do about him."

"Intend to do about him? What do you mean, 'do about him'?"

"Are you going to go back to Baker Street once you escape?"

"Well..." She debated her options. "No. They'll undoubtedly come looking for me, and when they do, I need to be long gone."

"So where are you going to go?"

"I don't know... Somewhere far away from here."

"Oh?"

"I'm not so different from you, when you made your demands. I want a fresh start. Maybe Norway. Norway seems like a nice place."

"Norway." She says, incredulity heavy in her voice.

"Oslo's beautiful. It's nearly always cold. I know the language well."

_Also, I like vikings._

"You wouldn't last two minutes without him." Ramona's eyes narrow, starting to get angry.

"We weren't involved like that."

"Yes you were." She stares at her.

"I think I'd know if we were, Irene. Sherlock doesn't have any interest in romance, it's just how he is."

"Well, he has interest in you." Ramona sighs heavily.

"No, he doesn't. Have you met him? Taller side of six foot, black hair, sociopathic tendencies?"

"So that's it? You're just going to disappear, never see him again?"

"That's the plan."

"And you think you can live with that?"

"As long as my family and friends are safe, Irene, I can live with anything."

"How admirable of you."

"It's not admirable, it's perfectly normal."

"I could never do it."

"Yes, well, you're not normal. Or perfect, for that matter. Now, can we stop talking about Sherlock? Please? That's not what I came here to discuss."

"Fine." Irene says, as a waiter comes over. "I'll get you what you need. But you didn't get them from me." She turns to the waiter. "Yes, I'll have the-"

Ramona's thoughts trailed, realising just how dire her situation was. If she went to Sherlock, if she went home, then she'd bring the trouble with her. If she left and never returned, she'd be miserable.

So, it was between her happiness, or Sherlock's safety.

She decided on Norway.

* * *

**Sherlock**

"Will you tell me something, Sherlock?" Hannah asks, sat at the dining table.

"Depends on how idiotic the question is." He sits in his chair, plucking at his violin with his fingers.

"Does..." She bites her lip, as if debating whether or not to say what she was going to say. "You know there's going to be other people, right?"

"Other people?" He stops pinging at his violin.

"Yeah, like, plenty of other fish in the sea." Sherlock narrowed his eyes. "What I'm saying is; you don't have to obsess over her. You can find someone who's... You know... Alive."

"I have no interest in what you're _so _subtly hinting at. I consider myself married to my work."

"Well I'm just saying..."

"Well don't 'just say'. I've had enough of people telling me to get over a case that hasn't yet been closed."

"The game is over for her, Sherlock."

"The game is never over." He looks around to her, annoyed. "If I wanted someone to constantly be down on spirits, I'd invite John's sister round."

Sherlock wonders what Ramona's reply might of been. He decided on hiding her amusement by looking outraged and physically lashing out at him, causing him to grin. She'd then probably say something along the lines of-

"Bit harsh." Hannah replies, getting back to her paperwork.

"You know she wanted me to teach her violin?" He says, looking down at her wedding ring, that had somehow found it's way into his hands.

"Really? That's funny," She laughs. "The first thing she said about you playing the violin was that you were a pretentious, pompous prick who had a small red mark on his neck and slight callouses from where you played violin all the time."

"Well, she wasn't wrong."

"I think she'd have liked the violin."

"The reason I was reluctant to teach her was because I was afraid she would excel at it and surpass me."

_"Ah, the fragile male ego." _Ramona's voice, yet again appearing to put himself down.

"Hmm, doubt it."

"Oh?"

"I mean, she was rubbish at music." He frowns. "Apart from singing, she was tone deaf. I remember the first few weeks of her trying to play guitar. Emphasis on the trying part." Hannah shook her head. "It made her so angry that she practiced for hours and hours, and then turned up at school with plasters on her fingertips because she had practiced for so long her fingers had literally bled." She sighs. "What a freak. I was worried she was gonna get carpal tunnel syndrome."

Sherlock smiles at this, the story giving him what was local anesthetic to Ramona's general anesthesia. A dulled down, smaller version, but pain relief all the same.

"Any more stories?" Hannah frowns, looking up from her work.

"Stories? Er... Well, Ramona was freakishly good at running in school. She won the northern England championship, and her coach wanted her to compete nationally, maybe with a bit of luck internationally. But then, she gave her this look, as if her coach had gone out of her mind, and said, 'I was just doing this to pass the time, I don't _actually _enjoy it." Hannah smiled.

There's a five second silence.

"What do you think she thought of you, Sherlock?" He was slightly taken aback by her sudden question.

"I imagine she viewed me as a neighbour, and then a flatmate."

_"Thank you, Sherlock." Ramona says, turning to him outside the school doors._

_"It was nothing. There's this app you can get that plays a ringtone when the timer goes off. I use it to get out of family dinners, although I suspect Mycroft is on to me-"_

_"I don't mean for that, Sherlock. I mean for... For saying that you were my, that you're my boyfriend. You didn't have to do it. You're a good best friend." Sherlock suddenly freezes, going into a state of shock. His eyes didn't leave hers as they simply stared, as if he couldn't believe what he had just heard. _

_"I- I thought your best friend was Hannah." she smiled._

_"Yes, and so are you." Sherlock frowned._

_"You can't have two best friends! That disproves the idea of you ever having a best friend meaning that your two alleged best friends are no longer best friends and demoted to good friends!" He hissed. Ramona laughed._

_"We really are too old for this conversation. Am I your best friend?" She asked, as she put her left hand down the right side of her dress._

_"Ye- What are you doing?" Ramona rolled her eyes._

_"Chill out, I'm getting this." She waved a small matchbox around in front of his face. His brow furrowed._

_"Are you going to try to set the school on fire? Because if so it's really not the best conditions, and you've brought sub-par equipment, and why was it even in your bra-"_

_"It's so if I'm in a situation like this. It's only small and it goes in at the side of it so you can't actually see it, it's just if I don't have any pockets." Sherlock blinked several times at all the information about her bra. "Answer the question then." She commanded as She opened the matchbox to be greeted with three matchsticks and two cigarettes. _

_"W- well, yes, you are." He struggled over the words as she struck the match and it caught flame instantly, and she lit her cigarette._

_"Sorry, do you mind? It's just I don't think I can go back in there if I don't have this." He shook his head to say it didn't matter. "Well, John is also your best friend, yes?" Sherlock thought for a second._

_"He's never said anything to-"_

_"Come on, y'know how bad John is with feelings."_

_"Almost as bad as you." Ramona glared at him and he smirked as she blew smoke into the air. "So, wait, you're saying that I have..."_

_"Two best friends." Sherlock looked at her like she had just spoken Latin. Backwards._

_"I have two best friends? Two?" Ramona nodded slowly with her eyebrows raised as Sherlock seemed to be on cloud nine. She laughed at the look on his face that resembled a kid at Christmas._

_"It's not unheard of, y'know." She said. He smiled with pursed lips._

_"To me it is." Those four words seemed to have an affect on her. Ramona dropped her barely used cigarette and stepped it out with the bottom of her high heel, before leaning up and forward and kissing Sherlock on the cheek._

_"Come on, let's get back inside." She took his hand to lead him back in but was quickly halted when Sherlock wouldn't move. "Sherlock?" He was still staring at where she was stood seconds ago. "Come on, Sherlock." She thought for a second. _

_"It's getting cold, Sherlock."_

Hannah's phone suddenly buzzed, and she stood up, gathering her paperwork and straightening it against the desk, before placing it into her bag.

"I'll leave you with some food for thought."

"I'm practically on the edge of my seat." He mutters, in a slight monotone to emphasize the fact that he couldn't care less what she had to say.

"'Tis better to have loved and lost than never to have loved at all." His eyes widen slightly, but he quickly shuts down his barriers, landing heavily on the toes of his threatening emotions.

"You do realise you're talking to a sociopath about love, yes?" She shrugs, pulling the brown leather strap of her satchel over her shoulder, reaching the door.

"Love isn't just a load of science. It's the opposite of science and logic, and that's why you can't ever explain it, that's why it scares Sherlock Holmes." She theorizes, with a smile. "It creeps up on you, when you're not looking, and it beats you up. And then you ask for more."

"You should write a book." Sarcasm is thick in his remark.

"I don't have the time nowadays."

"I've noticed."

"Of course you have." She presses her lips together, Sherlock obviously reminding her of Ramona. "Anyway, I have to go."

"How _will _I cope without you?" Hannah laughs.

"You know, you remind me of a broken fridge." His eyes narrow incredulously, turning to her.

"I'm sorry?"

"Everyone thinks your cold, but inside you're really warm, and everything's gone a bit soft." Sherlock rolls his eyes.

"Goodbye, Hannah."

"See ya!" The door shut behind her.

Waiting a few moments, he tries to gather his scattered thoughts.

Sherlock was getting nowhere fast.

Staring at his work and standing up, he confronts the realization that it was impossible to find them. Moriarty had conveyed his message without even appearing before him, and he had received it, loud and clear.

The sleep deprivation and the pure despair brought on a frustration like no other, making his mind fumble at the most simple of thoughts, making him drop things and occasionally bump into objects it seemed his body simply hadn't registered, a million miles away from his normally focused and clear mind, the lanky grace and self-assured motions of his movements and nimble fingers.

He turns, walking to the window, still clutching at her wedding ring in his hand.

She was out there. Somewhere, she was alone, confused, and in danger. And he couldn't get to her.

It was physically impossible to scour the entire earth for her, although in his more disorientated states, he had seriously contemplated it.

Gazing out onto the sky, it was painted with golden tones by the setting sun, scattering it across the light blue.

This made Sherlock remember when she had asked him what his favourite colour was.

He had responded with something about not caring about the way wavelengths reflected light off surfaces.

Ramona had basically mocked him for being so scientific, and then told him, even though he had not asked, that her favourite colour was the colour of fire fire.

Not gold, not deep yellow or orange or red, but fire. Crackling fire, the type like on Guy Fawkes night, a beacon of warmth in the cold autumn night, when you could feel the heat becoming unbearable, stinging your eyes if you got too close to the raging flames.

_"Mine's... I suppose it'd be like fire." His eyes narrowed momentarily in confusion._

_"Fire?" Sherlock repeats, incredulous._

_"Yeah. But the good kind. So not the kind I get thrown into." He rolls his eyes as she grins at her own not-so-funny joke._

_"Fire is not a colour, Ramona. Have you taken something?" She ignores his question._

_"Have you ever been to a bonfire? Course you have. The colour of the big flames that give off those little sparks, with the tiny smoldering bits of paper floating up into the sky." Ramona looked far away for a moment. "Maybe next year we could go to one... Together. John and Mary could have one, they've got a nice garden. We could get sparklers, Catherine wheels, those huge ridiculously overpriced illegal fireworks you can get down the off license, and a barbecue. Sound good?"_

It had sounded a bit too good.

Sherlock had left in a slightly flustered hurry, making up some excuse, turning up his collar, lecturing her about how the sentiment she felt attached to fire was; a) a symptom of being a pyromaniac, in which he suggested going to a therapist preferably before a court case, b) a side effect of capitalist consumerism and advertisement in which she had been tricked into feeling attached to colours and inanimate objects, c) another bit of information that served as evidence to prove that she was, in fact, a four year old in a woman's body.

But when he had closed the final door of 221B, he had looked up briefly. Sherlock had looked up, shading his eyes with a hand and gawking up at the huge golden planet above him, feeling the warmth of the sunlight on his skin.

He had sighed softly, realising what was happening to him. Feeling the instant connection of the gentle yet warmth and Ramona. Her hair, her skin, her freckles, and those eyes, the ones he had memorized like a map.

When their hands brushed together on passing each other and he thought about it for hours afterwards, when she handed him something and his fingers briefly were placed over hers, and those few and far between occasions when she hugged him and it sparked flames he had never known had existed inside of him, but calmed him at the same time. When she laughed, and it felt like the sun had burst through the clouds of his mind, leaving him feeling warm inside. When he looked at her in complete disbelief that someone like that could exist, and she just looked straight back at him, with smiling eyes, oh so innocently oblivious to what was happening in his mind.

All these occasions left him suspicious. Suspicious that his blood may have turned into fireworks, the banks of his bloodstream now embellished. As cliche as it sounded, he had truly never felt like that before. The way he felt it, only growing larger with each day that passed, like an ever-expanding forest that had started in his chest, every day she unknowingly planted another tree that gave him another reason to feel that way, until he was drowning in woodland, a polar opposite to the concrete jungle of a man he had been.

It frightened him, the way she made him feel. Like maybe he was human. Not a freak, not a robot, not a machine, but human. Ramona reminded him that he had a heart, when she made it speed up with nothing more than her presence. Like maybe he could have redemption, if he tried hard enough, if he just had one more conversation with her. She was his berserk button, the one that turned him into someone he didn't recognize. She was his guardian angel.

Sherlock couldn't explain it. He didn't know why. In the early days, he had searched his mind relentlessly for a reason, thinking that if he could find it, he could destroy it. But then, he had a revelation. It wasn't about her looks, or her intelligence. Nothing that shallow, not for a second, because it wasn't a fleeting moment of lust. It was so much more than that. It was nothing he could put a finger on, because it was everything. Everything about her. The way she pushed her hair out of her face, the way she put everyone before herself, the way she flashed her teeth when she smiled, how she looked in photographs with the flash on, the way she'd stick her tongue out ever so slightly when she found a certain part tricky on her guitar, the way she had a smart comment for everything (literally everything), how she cracked jokes as a defence mechanism, even how she laced her shoes, nimbly but tightly, always double knotting and either ending up with a small, tight, weird looking bow, or a way too big one. The fact that he had even analysed how she did up her trainers was enough to worry him that he may be losing his mind.

The thought of losing her was what had kept Sherlock up at night. It followed him into his dreams, haunting him with every step that she took, every stranger that looked at her with dilated pupils for too long, every lungful of smoke she took in. He found himself wondering each day if it might be the last of the time they spent together, the last day of the spring of his life, each time she stepped out of the door. Worry plagued him constantly, a sort of protectiveness he had never witnessed taking him over, pushing his emotions to the limit until he was at breaking point. Sherlock had quickly realised that he was probably being what was considered clingy in modern times, much to his embarrassment.

And now, he had lost her. The final blow, was that there was someone else walking around in her body, using the hands that he had once tentatively held, brushing the hair he had once stroked, and speaking using the voice that once graced his name musically. These facts would have angered him, had he not been so relieved.

Upon the realization that he would never hear her voice wrapped around his name ever again, Sherlock had broken down, dissolved into frustrated and pent up tears, sobs that ripped through the air from gritted teeth.

Although his version of Ramona may be gone, perhaps the new one he could save, and properly. Maybe he could even adopt a fake name, a completely new identity, take her by the hand and lead her to a new life, somewhere where nobody knew who they were, and he could make her happy. He'd make sure he did. Even if she would never remember who he was, he knew that it wouldn't change they way he felt, because nothing could. Sherlock fantasized about saving this new Ramona, finally putting an end to the ultimate dragon, and then, disappearing with her, starting afresh. She had once told him that if she didn't live in London, she'd want to live in Oslo. They could go there, live in a fisherman's cabin with one bedroom, and the cold wouldn't get to him one bit, or the nine month long winter, because Sherlock had his summer right by his side.

And then, perhaps he could prove that even death wouldn't part them. Because he simply would not let it.

He could easily write a hundred page essay on his contradicting, confusing and infuriating thoughts and emotions, complete with a couple of graphs and charts, and cited. Instead, Sherlock rationed himself on outbursts systematically, having to let off steam at points in his timeline, feeling that otherwise he would certainly implode.

The Great Detective, and yet his face heated at the mere mention of her name, palms sweating in contact with her. He was a man trying to be a god, and yet Sherlock's features softened instantly when laying his eyes upon Ramona. Someone who claimed to have zero interest in relationships, yet he was utterly obsessed with one girl's love life.

As his big brother would say, what might we deduce from this?

* * *

**Ramona**

"You'll try these, won't you?" Ramona smiled innocently.

Sherrinford was away on a three-day business trip, and the next time she was meeting with Moriarty and Colonel Moran was next week. It was perfect.

Ramona was going to escape, and she was going to do it with little effort.

"Ooo, you shouldn't have!" An old woman says, as servants crowd around her in their quarters, Ramona laying down the huge basket of cookies on the wooden table.

"My apology for worrying you all." She looked around, her plan working perfectly, as they all eagerly tucked in. "And my gratitude for covering my back."

"These are good!" Ramona shared a brief glance with Anna, who had helped her to make them. She was the only one to know of her plan. She watched as the girl took a bite out of a cookie.

"Don't flatter me!" She giggled.

By this time, they had all eaten excessive amount of the drugged food.

"Oh, I'm..."

"Starting to feel..."

"A bit..."

Suddenly, they start dropping like flies to the floor. Ramona had used what little chemistry knowledge she had to put them out for three days.

Three days. That was all she had, before her disappearance was caught onto.

Ramona turns, running down to the main entrance. It was strange that Sherrinford had no cameras in the house, but then again, the man with no enemies, only subjects, had no need to keep a look out for a back he didn't have.

She was wearing the clothes Irene had given her, meaning any kind of tracker that may have been placed on her was now long gone.

Sprinting down the drive and not once pausing, she reached the country road, turning left and continuing to run, until she reached the nearest town.

* * *

On the train to London, she anxiously played with the fake passport in her left hand, and the white envelope in her other.

The white envelope, addressed to Sherlock Holmes.

Because she couldn't just leave him with so many unanswered questions, could she?

After all they'd been through together, being so desperately in love with him, how could she leave it unfinished?

All the envelope contained was a few paragraphs, as she had felt stupid writing it. It would tell him nothing more than how she truly felt about him. How she had lied.

Ramona was plagued with a looming feeling of selfishness, but she just couldn't not tell him. She knew that she'd regret it until the day she died if she didn't.

* * *

221B Baker Street was empty, just as she had planned.

Walking up the stairs, Ramona noticed that Hannah had moved back in. She decided not to voice an opinion about this.

Opening the door and looking around, the scent of him hit her like a train. Books, expensive aftershave, and... and... She sniffs the air with narrowed eyes.

_Cigarette smoke?!_

After spotting the cigarette box and lighter on the table, her heart sinks. She tentatively walks over to the coffee table on which they resided, emptying the box, and grabbing for a pen.

**Call me a hypocrite, but you know better than this, Sherlock Holmes. - RD**

After scrawling this on the inside of the box and closing it again, she capped the pen, setting it down.

At this, The grey clouds started to look heavier, as the first few raindrops could be heard on the pavement outside.

As Ramona looked around, she quickly realised just how much that one night in France had affected him. His inquisitive and obsessive nature had led to the wall over the couch to be completely full with various documents, all trying to find-

_All trying to find... _

She frowns in disbelief, walking closer. A pang runs though Ramona, as the realisation strikes her.

_Me. He's trying to find me._

Her chest ached, as she got up onto the couch, taking a bit of blue-tack from one piece of paper, then getting down and walking over to the mantelpiece, using the blue-tack to stick the envelope in the centre of the mirror above it, his name scrawled in her large, joined letters, underlined twice to really catch his attention.

Ramona turned to leave, having done what she came to do. She would never see him again, and really, she was distraught by this, wanting to cry right there. However, as her hand met with the cold steel of the doorknob, she found she couldn't turn it. She couldn't find the strength to leave.

_Just five more minutes. _Something told her. _Five more minutes in heaven, and I swear I'll skip my way to hell. _

She retracted her hand, slowly walking and turning to the kitchen, looking around with a smile. Ramona straightened out the blowtorch on the table, reminiscing on the time when Sherlock had set the table alight, whilst she had been in the living room, scaring the living daylights out of her, causing her to scream at him from her chair as he calmly watched, before getting the fire extinguisher and putting it out, not batting an eyelid at it. When she had come over to the kitchen to tell him off, he had turned the fire extinguisher on her, and her resolve quickly melted into uncontrollable laughing with him, collapsing onto the scorched floor with tears of mirth in their eyes.

Ramona was going to miss the laughter. The constant back and forth, the knowing looks with raised eyebrows, the synchronized minds. She was going to miss him so much it made her bones ache, making her feel heavy with grief.

Perhaps he'd find someone that could give him the world. One day, hopefully, she would get news of Sherlock being married to someone incredibly lucky, someone who had melted that 'heart of ice' he insisted on having. Ramona decided she wouldn't race to the wedding to stop it, she would do nothing so soap-opera or selfish. She'd let him have his well deserved happiness that she wasn't capable of giving him, and she'd wish him all the best.

And maybe, if she was lucky, she could live her days out in solace, tucked away in a cold, beautiful city, untouched by other people, but happy. Ramona never truly felt lonely on her own, it was only when Sherlock had been dead that she had felt alone on the huge planet.

The rain was starting to become harder, the downpour now causing people to scuttle under shelters.

She walks back into the living room, running her finger over the length of the mantelpiece, collecting a small amount dust on her fingertip.

_"Dust is eloquent."_

All Ramona wanted was to be here, with him, the way they had been, for the rest of her life. It was all she desired, and her lack of ambition made her disgusted with herself, but it was the truth. If she could sell her soul for one last day with him, she'd do so happily and without a word of complaint.

She was debating trying to summon the devil to make a deal, but was briefly worried that Moriarty would show up in a puff of smoke and wearing horns, holding a pitchfork.

At this point, the outside door is opened.

Ramona's heart jumps violently in her chest, butterflies filling her at the realization that the gait was right to be Sherlock's.

The rain was powerful now, so hard and fast that it would hurt to go out in it.

She realises that there's nowhere to run, and the bottom of her shoes are suddenly cemented to the carpet, unable to move at all.

Ramona turns and stares into the mirror above the fireplace, checking her appearance.

She was dressed in a flowing skirt to the top of her knees, with flats, a tucked in white blouse, the cardigan that she had been wearing now on the back of a dining chair. Ramona's golden hair was longer than ever, and flowing down, nearly reaching the middle of her back.

She pushes her hair out of her face and takes a deep breath, trying to calm the storm brewing inside her.

What would he say? How would he react?

The girl knows she's about to find out, as the steps started up the stairs, slowly, almost ominous.

Exhaling loudly, she turns away from the mirror, to face the door.

Ramona desperately needed to see him. She needed to see Sherlock's face just one more time, like a junkie after her next fix.

And then, the doorknob starts to turn.

Ramona swallows, and steels herself.

* * *

**Cliffhanger!**

**Okay, thank God I can get Ramona's sarcasm back into this.**

**As always, thanks for reading, and even more for leaving a review if you do! :)**


	60. Explosions

**Explosions - Ellie Goulding**

**I don't own anything apart from my OC!**

* * *

Sherlock seems to not notice her, as he steps inside, and closes the door behind him. She doesn't dare to breath.

The Consulting Detective was in his usual get up, his long coat swaying slightly with each step, as he begins to take off his gloves, his raven curls slightly dusted with water from the flooding sky, but not enough to weigh them down.

Her heart almost breaks, as his presence is a never ending reminder of something beautiful that she can never have.

As he turns, his jaw drops on seeing her, his grey eyes widening.

She isn't sure what to do, completely frozen to the spot, just as he is, two statues in the room. How had it ended up like this?

Ramona swallows.

"Hello." Her voice was choked and small, afraid that she might burst into tears.

Sherlock's mouth was parted, not moving an inch, as if she would shatter if he got too close, a perfect illusion that he could never touch.

His eyes scan the room, his gaze fixing on the envelope stuck to the mirror. He looks from this to her, his powerful mind easily piecing together what she was doing.

Ramona remembers that he thought that she hated him, and realised that this was probably what she should go with, until she left.

"It's really you." She struggles not to close her eyes at his voice, that perfect baritone slicing through the air in precision, a flag of silk waving in warm air.

She lets out a small, uneasy and unsure smile.

"It's really me."

Sherlock looked wary, as if she would attack him at any moment.

Their gazes lock for the first time, and she realises that she had forgotten the sheer intensity of the ice coloured stare, calculating and studying, and yet, that strange softness that still lingered after all these years, after all she'd done.

"Sherlock..." Her mouth was dry with fear and nerves, already feeling her pulse start to race in his vicinity. Ramona had no idea as to what to say.

_I love you._

At this point, she didn't care if her pupils dilated. She could blame it on the lighting.

"I... I just came here to pick up a few things. Have you seen my leather jacket?"

"Drop the act." Ramona pauses, her mask slipping briefly.

"What do you mean?" Her brow furrows slightly in confusion.

"Mycroft told me everything." Her eyes screw shut as she grimaces in pain that feels almost physical, looking away to her right. Why had his brother done that?

Looking back to the envelope, Sherlock's Adam's apple bobs in a swallow.

"Why are you running away?" Ramona wishes she could disappear, not face up to the conversation.

"Because I want to." His brow creases. "I," She sighs. "I want a fresh start. Somewhere new. I'm washing my hands of all these British geniuses with sociopathic tendencies."

"_You're _a British genius with sociopathic tendencies."

"I bet you say that to all the girls." She smiles sheepishly, looking up to see that he was definitely not amused, his face completely serious.

There's a pause.

"Why are you here, Ramona?"

She bites her lip in hesitation and wariness.

Admittedly, Ramona hadn't thought this through. What was she going to tell him?

"Well..." She stalled for time, her brain working quickly to sort out which lie to tell.

"And don't lie. I want the truth. For once."

_For once._

His words were a knife inside of her, twisting sharply in her chest ninety degrees at every statement.

If she was to tell the truth, what sort of situation would this become? Ramona had planned to tell him in a letter, certainly not face to face.

"I- I'm not sure I have the time to tell the truth."

"Oh?"

_It'd take me weeks to stutter out those three words._

"I need to get moving. I've got three days to disappear."

"Then let's run away together." He replies without a second of hesitation, causing her eyes widen, butterflies rippling through her stomach once again.

"Sherlock..." Another one of those defeated, sad smiles from her, as she looked away. At this, he becomes more desperate.

"At least let me help you."

"I don't want your help. I-I want..." She frowned.

"What _do _you want?"

Ramona looked up quickly to meet his eyes, her expression troubled and shocked.

She realises she had made things worse, and needed to leave. Ramona starts to walk towards him, although he stood as if he guarded the door.

"Right now? I want to go."

"No." There was a flicker of desperation behind his stoic demeanor. "You don't."

They were closer than before, bodies almost touching.

The rain was pummeling the window and the pavement outside at this point, the only sound filling the silence of the flat.

"Sherlock."

"Tell me. Tell me why you're here." His expression seems to harden again. "Tell me why you protected me, even when you didn't have to. Tell me why your act is so good. Tell me why you came here before leaving. Because I don't understand your logic."

_Logic has nothing to do with it._

"It's not that easy-"

_Don't make me say it._

"Why can't you just say?!"

_Surely you already know._

"Because I-"

_Please just stop._

"Tell me right now, or I-"

"Because I love you!"

Sherlock freezes completely, a wide eyed statue of a man, blinking at her a couple of times.

Her heart falls as a pang runs through her, palms starting to sweat.

Why did she say that? Was she an idiot?

Just looking at his expression, it was clear he was uncomfortable.

Ramona decided that since this was the last time she'd ever see him, she may as well tell the whole truth.

"From the day we met. I've been in love with you from the moment I saw you."

She knows that an explanation will not change the fact that her feelings are unrequited, but after five years of complete and utter hell, she found herself pouring her heart out to him.

"It's always been you, Sherlock. Only you." She can feel her face heating with humiliation. "I love you so much it hurts."

Why did she insist on embarrassing herself?

"That's why I protect you. It's why I'm here right now." Ramona swallows again. "Because I... I'm not asking for anything in return..." Her voice trails off.

His brow creases in confusion, and she's frozen to the spot, shell shocked with horror that she had finally confessed.

Looking at his expression, her eyes begin to sting, filling up with heartbroken tears, rejection finally hitting her like a tonne of bricks.

But what had she expected?

"I know... I know that you don't..." She looked around and down at her feet, willing herself not to start crying. "I know that you don't feel the same way... About me. So if you just... If you just let me leave, I promise I'll never bother you again."

At this, Ramona cringes at herself, realising that these past years of her life had been nothing but a descent, a gigantic fall from grace, one that had never been that graceful to begin with.

Suddenly, her right hand is being lifted, and she doesn't dare to meet his gaze out of shame.

And then, Ramona feels something that confuses her.

She looks up in surprise to her hand, placed on the black silk of Sherlock's shirt, trapped in between that and his larger hand.

Ramona could feel his heart beating. More importantly, she could feel it thundering. It was going as fast as hers, if not speeding quicker.

"Sherlock..." She swallows. "What are you...?"

Her eyes rise from her hand, and find that he's much closer than before, and she can now feel and hear his breathing.

Ramona closes her eyes automatically, wishful thinking overtaking her.

He tilts his face and she feels his nose brush her face lightly, their mouths now only inches apart.

After five seconds of waiting in this nature, she opens her eyes, to find Sherlock hovering so close next to her.

And then, she realises why.

He was nervous.

After all this time, after everything, he was afraid of kissing her.

At this moment she was overwhelmed by everything, the sound of the rain battering against the windows, his shallow breathing from his parted lips, Sherlock's heartbeat at her fingertips, her own heart racing like a hummingbird's, the smell of his ever pleasant mint breath, with a hint of nicotine lacing it, making it intoxicating.

As the pining and all the longing reached unbearable levels, Ramona realises that she had to kiss him. After everything, she needed at least something to remember him by.

Without a second thought, she closes the last inch, pressing her lips softly against Sherlock's, screwing her eyes shut.

She stays still like this, simply trying to enjoy the electric feeling.

Ramona feels his heart skip a beat, and her hand moves closer against his shirt, as his grip on her hand tightens.

There was a moment of nothingness, nothing but the two of them together, breathing quickly against each other, Just his impossible stillness with his impossible heart rate.

Sherlock takes action and moves his mouth against hers, her heart jumping in its broken cage at the gentle pressure on her lips, which sent a shock akin to cold water straight down her spine.

Ramona quickly returns the kiss, trying to hold herself back against his slow movements, wanting to stay in that state forever.

She brings her free left hand slowly up, and runs her fingers through his hair longingly, eyes still closed, as she pulls back for breath, resting her forehead against his.

"Sherlock..." She whispers, not sure what to feel, say, or do, her mind everywhere at once.

This utterance is met with another kiss, this time more assertive. However, there was still hesitance, as if he was testing what to do.

Her mouth falls open, more in shock than anything else, and she feels his tongue softly move into the space she had unwittingly given him.

She notices Sherlock start to come back to life against her, bringing his free hand to the side of her face, and she feels him start to unravel, as if breaking through all the barriers they had ever put up against each other.

Something starts to burn behind the kiss, and suddenly his hands are at her waist.

Ramona decides to go as far as she could before he comes back to his senses, and breaks off, to kiss along his jawline. His head roll back in response to expose his neck, and she moves her mouth downwards to the middle of his throat, in which she can feel his heartbeat racing against her mouth.

She brings her hands down to his shirt, he lets out a low, guttural moan. Her eyes widen at the sound, as if vibrates against her mouth. She grips onto the material of his shirt, resisting the urge to rip it off, pulling back, and he looks down at her, locking gazes, his eyes clouded with something she had never seen before. Not just from him, but from anyone.

"I..." She begins, but can't find the words to explain anything.

"The chemistry... Is incredibly simple..."

He seems to steady himself, and then, paces forward towards her, with such a force it causes her to take the same steps back and quicker, until her back hits the kitchen counter violently, almost winding her.

"And very destructive."

Before she can register what's happening, Sherlock has boxed her in, looking intensely into her eyes.

"I don't... Know how to make you... _Understand_."

Her mouth falls open in shock, and he moves his head closer, so that she can feel the hair that usually fell against his forehead pressed against hers.

"Understand what...?" Her words came out stuttered and small.

"How I feel about you."

With this, her eyes begin to well with tears, and his face falls at her expression.

"W-what? Am I doing it wrong? D-Did I-"

"You don't have to do that."

"What?"

"To spare my feelings. You don't have to lie to me." She shakes her head. "Stop giving me the wrong idea."

"You-" He moves closer and tilts his head to the side. "You've gotten the wrong idea for five years, Ramona." Her eyes widen at the sheer shock of so much emotion in his voice. "You're finally starting to get the right idea."

The fact that they had kissed only moments ago left her stunted, unsure as to what to do, or what to say, or what to think.

"Look at me," He leans in even closer, so that his words are being murmured so close to her she can feel them against her mouth. "And make a deduction."

He moves his hands to her face, so that she had to make eye contact.

"An elevated pulse..." She remembers his powerful heartbeat against her palm. "Dilated pupils..." Ramona studies his eyes, and a pang runs through her on the realisation that his pupils are in fact dilated.

The rain was louder than ever, and it looked like there could be a storm forecast.

"What can you deduce from that?"

"Don't play with me, Sherlock." Her eyes were warning and serious. "Don't play with my feelings."

At this, he moves closer, and she can feel his hip bones press sharply against her, trapping her in between his body and the wall.

"For a clever woman, you really are quite stupid, aren't you?" She feels his right hand in her hair. He kisses her, and this time it's different.

Their tongues meet in a fiery dance, and she finds herself being pushed to the side, out of the kitchen and down the hallway, towards his bedroom.

She walks backwards through the open doorway, and he shuts the door behind him with his foot, neither of them once breaking the rhythm of the kiss. Ramona takes a hold of the lapels of his coat, sliding it backwards and off his arms, onto the floor behind him.

As she does he pushes Ramona back onto the bed so that her head was on the pillows. He crawls over her, their lips meeting again, before she breaks off.

"Wait." She says quietly, and he stops instantly, looking at her with largely dilated pupils. "I-I still have to go. Tomorrow."

"Ramona-"

"I can't stay with you, Sherlock. It's for your own good." Her chest aches violently with pain at his expression.

"Then... Let me say goodbye. For just one night, forget the rest of the world outside this bedroom, and let me say goodbye." He searches her eyes. "I don't want to do this with anyone else."

Ramona nods, as he leans back down to kiss her, making her feel his message as she screws her eyes shut, a mess of emotions. His fingers go to the first button of her blouse, clouding her mind even more.

She breathes his name, and it seems as if he loses his cool, Sherlock's usually nimble hand suddenly flying violently downwards, so that the buttons on the thin material fly off in one swift movement.

His eyes seem darker than usual, as he takes in the pale skin underneath the now ruined blouse, and a glimpse of a lace white bra.

She has a burst of confidence and brings her hands up to his shoulders, pushing him sideways and down onto the bed so that she was now straddling him, in control.

Ramona begins untucking his shirt from his trousers, and then unbuttoning it. She kisses the hollow of his throat and his collarbone, then leaving a trail of kisses down the middle of chest, and the exposed skin of his stomach. She feels his muscles tense underneath her at the sensation, and she brings her hands up his sides, before looking up, to see Sherlock, completely undone, breathing quickly, his flushed face hidden with an arm thrown over his eyes, but at the same time, completely frozen.

Dread fills her.

"Sherlock?" Her anxiety was audible in her tone.

_Did I go too far? Has he finally come back to himself? _

Her brow furrows as she studies his face.

"Sherlock, are you alright?" He lifts his arm to look at her.

"Why... Did you stop?" His eyes flicker towards her own, and her mouth parts in shock and disgust at herself.

_He's a virgin, you idiot! What do you think you're doing to him? _

"Oh my god, I'm so sorry." The completely frozen man starts to de-thaw, and she realises that although his body may have been showing some different signs, it didn't mean he wanted what she wanted.

Sherlock's brow creased in confusion, gazing up at her with eyes still deeply clouded.

"Sorry? For what?" He straightens up slightly, his erection painfully obvious.

"I... For losing myself. I'm sorry, I forgot that you've never- that you've never-" She found she couldn't say it, purely because she still couldn't reveal her extremely impure intentions, however transparent.

"Oh, so this sudden lack of enthusiasm comes down to my virginity?" She blushes even harder, half in shame and half in embarrassment, however the Detective seemed to have neither of these attributes.

Trying to get a read of his expression, it was obvious that he was irritated by this sudden change of heart.

"You froze up. You're not ready." She looks away, starting to get off him.

He frowns, and suddenly grabs her jaw, so that she has to face him, and cannot look away.

"Really? I think I decide those things for myself." A half-smirk-half-scowl spreads across his features.

"It would be taking advantage." Her face starts burning as he pulls it closer to his own.

"And you'd be a very bad person for taking my innocence, wouldn't you?" There's a very obvious mocking in his sentence, as his eyes narrow slightly.

"Y-yes, I would be." Ramona reigns back into a state of minute self control, which Sherlock had definitely lost, trying to push away.

As she does, his face becomes more troubled.

"I thought you wanted to." He says, and she freezes at the innocence and blankness in the statement, possibly the most obvious thing he had ever said.

"I- I do, I just..." Her eyes move slowly back to his, and she's taken in once again by that hypnotic stare. "You're not thinking straight. I don't want to make you do anything you'll regret later."

"Ramona, no one can make me do anything if I don't want to do it." She swallows.

The feeling that she was doing something wrong began to drift away, as he continued talking.

"And why," He pulls her face even closer, so that words were barely above a baritone whisper. "Why would I regret something that I've wanted for so long?"

Her eyes widen, as a pang runs through her.

"The feelings I harbour towards you are ones of intense affection, and desire." Her heart rate reaches new speeds at his deadpan talking, as if he was just reading off facts from a list. "I have come to the conclusion that these feelings, are in fact, love."

At this, a huge wave of euphoria rushes over her, and she cant help but start to smile like an idiot.

"So you're saying, that, you, in fact, you-"

"For god's sake, Ramona." His serious expression begins to evolve into his own smile. "I'm in love with you."

Her smile turns into a grin, and her eyes fill with tears of pure joy.

"Pathetically, hopelessly, desperately, in love with you." He adds.

Ramona realises that she'll probably wake up any moment now, seeing as things couldn't get any better.

"And if at all convenient, I would like to have sex with you." Her face burns harder at this, and she lets out a small nervous laugh. He chuckles slightly in response. "Too blunt?"

"I need you to spell things out for me, Sherlock."

She leans down the last couple of inches and kisses him, her hands almost lost in his hair, before pulling back warily.

"Are you sure?" She cared about him too much to let sweet talk perhaps said in the moment ruin his mental health. "I mean, you don't want at least a bit of time to think about it?"

"Are _you _sure? You seem to be very intent on postponing this." She bites her lip.

"I am. Definitely. I just..." Her brow furrows, realising she doesn't know the answer herself. "I'm nervous, actually." Ramona almost laughs in disbelief. "Yeah, I'm nervous."

"That makes two of us, then." She grins, and he sighs, slight annoyance evident. "Do you want to do this?" She nods. "So do I. That's usually enough to-"

He suddenly rolls back over, his hands on her upper arms, so that it's now Ramona on her back, him over her.

"Make something happen." He leans in. "Correct?"

"Correct." She replies, her voice small and almost strangled with disbelief.

"Quick question, are you-" Ramona realises that he's asking about something she never thought they would talk about. Safe sex.

"I've got the implant." She vaguely gestures to her upper left arm with her head. "One hundered percent effective." He smiles, almost in something that looks like satisfaction, as he straightens up momentarily to take off his suit jacket, throwing it to the side.

"Good."

Without another word, his open mouth meets hers, and it feels almost magnetic, as if they fit together perfectly, and she feels Sherlock's fingertips gently run down her bare sides causing goosebumps to rise in their wake, and then his left hand slowly slide up her inner thigh.

This draws an involuntarily moan out of her against his mouth, causing him to growl, moving quicker, and she arches her back at the feeling of his fingertips tentatively against the now ruined material of her white silk knickers.

He suddenly begins on her skirt, unzipping the side of it, and she raises her hips, allowing him to slide it down her legs, throwing it carelessly to the side.

She brings herself out of the trance with huge effort, putting her hands under his undone shirt, and taking it off him, so that he was now completely topless.

Taking his torso in, her eyes widen, and she absentmindedly runs a hand down the middle of it, causing him shudder in pleasure, and she feels his breath hitch momentarily against her face.

Ramona smiles sheepishly, as her hand meets the the top of his trousers. She cheekily hooks a finger inside, and his eyes widen at her boldness, seeming to spark something inside him. Sherlock leans down to her ear.

"Are you _teasing _me, Ramona Doherty?" His voice was surprisingly guttural and lower than usual, and the underlying tone of restraint gave her chills, as she looked up from her hand and to his eyes.

"Maybe." Ramona leaned upwards, and kissed him in a way that made him respond tenfold, pushing her head back into the pillow with the force. He pulls back, leaving her slightly breathless and dazed. "Or maybe I just like touching you."

A one sided smirk briefly twitches on his mouth, before she undoes the button of his trousers, and his expression becomes one of slight shock, as she unzips them, watching warily for a bad reaction.

"I can stop any time, Sherlock." _I think so, anyway._

He brought his eyes down to hers, his stare something almost threatening, it was so serious.

"Don't you dare." He leans down, and kisses her again, and she brings her hands up to his shoulders, her nails digging into his skin as she tries not to lose control.

His trousers are off, and a hand slides to her back, pulling her up off the bed slightly, to remove her last layer of outer clothing, her blouse, and throwing it to the side, laying her down gently.

"Promise me you'll never take another." His sentence comes as a surprise, as she feels a hand move to the clasp on her bra.

"What?" His mouth moves to the side of her neck, and she lets out a gasp at the sudden pain of receiving a lovebite, and he then pulls away after what felt like an age.

"I never want anyone else to see you like this. Ever."

His hand makes light work of her bra, and her face reddens, as he pulls away from her neck, kissing the area that was already starting to show signs of broken blood vessels underneath, and takes off her bra.

"Only me. No one else. Just me."

Her cheeks flush a deep crimson of embarrassment and she turns her head to the side, feeling his eyes on her naked chest. Ramona felt vulnerability that she had never felt before, realising she was completely at the critical man's mercy.

"J-just you." Her voice was smaller than ever, and his eyes practically sparkle at the sentence, a satisfied smirk appearing on his mouth.

He runs his nails up along the sides of her torso, and to the newly revealed part of her body. She lets out another gasp of shock as the feeling of his fingers grazing over her nipples reverberates around her, trying not to arch her back.

"You know you're beautiful, don't you?" At this, her heart jumps, and he says it with a disbelieving tone, as if he can't register why she would feel humiliated.

He puts a gentle hand at the side of her face, brushing her hair out of her eyes, making her look up at him.

"Are you embarrassed?" She nods ever so slightly in confirmation, and he smiles gently, leaning down to kiss her forehead.

"Surely," His kisses down the centre of her face, meeting the tip of her nose lovingly. "You realise," His lips meet hers, and she moves up slightly, wanting to give back. He pulls away, and kisses her chin. "Just how attractive you are." His mouth is on her jawline, and she momentarily forgets how to breath.

Ramona brings her fingers to the nape of his neck and up into the mess of black hair, feeling his kisses get lower, now in the middle of her chest. She sighs his name, and at that he becomes a fraction more frantic, coming back up to look at her.

Her mouth dry is with nerves, as his fingers hook into the sides of her knickers, taking his time in sliding them down and off her. Ramona feels his hand brushing up her inner thigh, up to the top, and then back down, gently pushing her legs apart.

After doing this, Sherlock stays in this state, taking in every inch of her naked, flushed body in the dark room, barely lit with a streetlamp, and the blue hue of the rain, that sounded like white noise, infecting the ambiance.

She gathers all her courage, and does the same to him, her face even more heated as she does so, her heart fluttering in her chest. Why was she so desperately nervous? She had never been this frightened- or excited- not even when losing her own virginity.

His mouth crashes down to hers, in a deep, passionate, needing kiss, as his hands greedily roam all over her body, resting at the top of her hips.

He positions himself in between her legs, and she pulls away completely, her head resting on the pillow, their gazes locking intensely.

"Ramona..." His voice trails off as he breaths her name, and she swallows, putting a hand up and pushing his raven hair, that had been half covering an eye, out of his face.

"Are you sure?" She asks again, wanting to be completely sure.

"I'm sure."

* * *

He stills and collapses, laying on top of her, both of them panting, trying to remember their names and regain control of their heart rate and breathing. He kisses her neck, before rolling to the side off her and onto his back, as Ramona simply continues to gasp for breath up at the ceiling, eyes wide, completely shocked with him and completely satisfied.

After a few minutes like this, she breaks the comfortable silence.

"Jesus, Sherlock!" She exclaims, and he frowns, turning to look at her. "What the hell was that?!" His eyes widen in surprise, before his features contort into a horrified expression, cringing.

"That bad?" He groans in embarrassment, bringing a hand up to hide his reddening face. "I had suspected I wouldn't exactly be amazing, but I can get better, if you give me a little time. I'm a quick learner."

At this, she lets out a laugh, grinning so hard her cheeks start to ache.

"Are you _sure_ that was your first time?"

"What do you mean?"

"It was..." He props himself up onto one elbow, now looking down at her with a confused expression.

Her eyes shift to the right to make eye contact with the perplexed man.

"Without a doubt, the best I've ever had." His eyes widen, and Sherlock's face lights up with delight.

"Really?" His voice was a bit too enthusiastic, and it made her giggle at his ecstatic expression.

"Six times, Sherlock." Ramona confirms, through a giggle. "Really."

He clears his throat.

"I mean..." She raises an eyebrow, amused. "Not that it's-"

She interrupts him with a kiss, and he responds gently, letting her move him completely onto his back, a hand in his hair.

Breaking the kiss but being close enough so that their foreheads are touching, her body pressed to his, she smiles down at Sherlock.

"I love you." He smirks, his eyes sparkling.

"Yes, you've made that quite clear." He teases, and her eyes widen in shock, and she frowns, obviously hurt.

"Oh."

"But I haven't made it quite as clear," He tries to save himself, as she obviously could not tell when he was teasing her.

"Mm." She hums in annoyed agreement, waiting for her turn to tease him back.

"That I love you back a lot more."

She turns so that she's laying on her back next to him.

"Is that so?" She raises her eyebrows.

"Obviously." Sherlock was returning back to normal, and she bites back a grin. "Haven't you been paying attention to my body language? Ever?"

She looked away briefly, still pretending to be upset. He sighs in exasperation with himself.

"I'm sorry, Ramona." She shakes her head dismissively. Sherlock turns onto his side, propping his body up again with an elbow.

She averts her gaze away from him.

"I said I'm sorry." Ramona shows no sign of response or even acknowledgement. "Ramona? I'm sorry. Please forgive me." He frowns at himself. "Ramona!" He hisses, before huffing again. "I didn't realise it'd upset you. I'm an idiot."

At this, she starts to giggle mischievously, and turns to him.

"Got you." Sherlock's expression flickers from confusion, recognition, to annoyance, and then, amusement, leaning down to kiss her. "Still so easy to wind up."

"Shut up." He growls, a grin evident in his voice and on his regal features, even in the dark.

"How many times did you apologise?" She counts on her fingers. "Six, if memory serves."

"Oh, be quiet."

"Didn't you say you were an idiot as well?" She stifles a laugh at his growing amusement, hidden behind a false scowl.

"I wish you'd stop teasing me." She turns into him, so that her head is resting underneath his jaw. He lies down, still on his side, putting an arm over waist and pulling her closer, kissing the top of her head, taking in the scent of green apples and a light dusting of her perfume.

"Practice what you preach." Her grin grows. "And you love it really."

She can see and feel the movement of his chest as he chuckles.

"I'll admit to that."

She curls closer in closer to him, almost her whole body in contact with his, leaning up briefly to kiss the underside of his jaw, making him sigh contently.

"I love you." He tells Ramona, making waves of euphoria crash up and over her.

"I love you too." With this, they both drift off peacefully, and she realises that it's the first time she's ever gone to sleep with a smile on her face.

* * *

Waking up, Ramona briefly didn't know where she was.

She opens her eyes to the sight of a pale neck, confusing her further. Turning away and onto her back, instantly feeling colder in the messed up sheets, she realises that the person she had slept next to, was, in fact, Sherlock Holmes.

Her eyes widen to the size of small blue moons, stifling a cry of surprise at the still peacefully asleep detective, as everything from the night before returned to her.

It had been like something straight out of a dream. It was almost too ethereal to be believed.

She looks around, looking for a clock. She turns to look at the bedside table, and sees, to her horror, that the time is nine thirty am.

Why couldn't time freeze? Why did she have to leave something like this?

It was for him.

With this thought, she gets to her feet.

And then, falls to her knees.

Ramona cringes in pain, realising that it was last night that had brought the inability to walk. Her face heats at the thought, getting up slowly and to her feet, her steps slightly smaller than usual, going over to her clothes, that had been thrown about the room last night.

_God, last night was-_

"What are you doing?" She freezes at Sherlock's sleepy baritone.

"Getting dressed." She says, standing facing away from him having already put her knickers back on, and clipping her bra at the front, then twisting it around and pulling the straps up to her shoulders.

"Obviously." Sherlock yawns adorably. "I mean why." She pulls on her skirt, zipping it up and twisting it to the right place.

"I have to go." His eyes widen.

"What?" Slight panic is evident in his quicker tone.

"I was supposed to be leaving last night, Sherlock." She was honestly extremely frightened that they'd come here, and put Sherlock in danger.

Ramona realises that she can't wear her blouse, and begins searching for a jumper in his wardrobe. Finding a grey v-neck, she pulls it on, briefly pausing to register that it had his smell all over it.

"They'll be realising I'm gone soon. If I'm with you when-" She turns to walk around the bed, but Sherlock's stood in front of her, his face one of thunder. Ramona swallows.

He was now half dressed in his designer underwear, and a crimson dressing gown hung over his frame.

"Are you really going to be that cliche?"

"What?"

"Tell me you love me, and then leave me?" He was visibly furious, his eyes ablaze.

"Then maybe you shouldn't have made me say it!" His mouth drops in shock, and a huge amount of hurt registers on his face. She instantly regrets it. "I told you yesterday that I was leaving, Sherlock."

"Are you saying that this was a mistake? What was it? Pity sex?"

"Obviously not! If I could stay, you know I-"

"You're not leaving me. Not again." He grabs her wrist as she tries to push him away harshly. She looks up. "Not happening." Studying his eyes, Ramona realises that they were filled with panic-stricken tears.

"If I don't go, you'll be in danger. And when they find me, it's not going to be happy families." Ramona desperately tries to get her point across. "If you don't let me go right this second, you'll get hurt."

He leans in to her, not letting go of her wrist, and her resolve begins to waver.

"Then I'll get hurt." Her vision starts to blur, realising that she could have potentially sentenced Sherlock to death.

"I'm not worth that, Sherlock. Don't say things like that." At this, his anger and desperation only grows.

"Do you know why I'm an addict, Ramona?" She freezes momentarily, looking up at him, searching his face, noting his messy curls that framed his face perfectly, all of them skewing slightly to his left from how he had been sleeping.

"Not really." She replies.

"My mind is loud." Sherlock's eyes bore holes into her own. "When I woke up, sometimes it would be so bad that I had to sit there for half an hour, just waiting for it to settle. It's hard to organise, constantly screaming at me, noticing everything and overloading me with unnecessary information." She feels his grip become gentle around her wrist. "Morphine was my favourite, because of the quiet. The peace and quiet. It's the silence after a hit that made me go back time and time again. The rest from the constant noise. Beginning to feel normal." He swallows. "And then, I met you." Ramona's eyes widen. "You put it to rest. All the worries, paranoia and self-deprecation constantly eating me alive and dragging me down, they got quieter. Because..." The top of his cheeks were starting to flush, in a manner that would suggest embarrassment. "Everything was so violent, a relentless storm, and then there you are, with your smart mouth and your eyes, and you make me forget every name I've ever been called, every person I've ever made cry, every murder victim I never saved."

She lets out a tortured sob, and tears slip down her face.

"Please-" Her voice is strangled.

"You're my guardian angel. I don't care about the pretenses under which we met. And I never want to see you cry ever again. So stop." She nods quickly, wiping her face with her free hand. "I let you go once before, and I've never regretted anything as much in my entire life. Ramona," He searches her eyes intently. "Nothing they could do to me, torturing me, starving me, killing me, could ever equate to losing you. I'd rather die with you behind me, than live for a moment longer without you."

"Sherlock." She whispers, not knowing what to say.

"I'll protect you. I'll give you a relatively normal life, if that's what you want." His grip is getting softer by the second, as he brings up a hand to the side of her face, taking away a tear with his thumb.

This only makes her feel worse, making her feel as if she truly was the most heartless woman on the earth. Ramona felt as if she had manipulated him, like she was forcing him to say those things.

"You can get a job. See your friends again. Everything'll be okay, I promise." He searched her teary eyes for some sort of response. "And... If you'll take me, I... You..." Another sob escapes her at this, and his eyes widen in horror. "Does the thought of me really bring you to tears?" He had obviously gotten the wrong idea, and she would have laughed, if she wasn't in such a conflicting torrent of emotions.

She closed the small space between them, and kissed him deeply, throwing her arms around his neck. He reciprocates immediately, his arms wrapping around her waist. Ramona pulls away, studying his face.

"Sherlock... I'd never ask that much of you."

"You don't have to." He presses his lips against her forehead, and she smiles weakly. "You don't have to." Sherlock repeats himself, in an effort to get his message across.

Ramona pushes herself into a hug, her head resting against his chest, slowly tuning into his racing heartbeat, as Sherlock sighs and closes his eyes in relief.

* * *

**It finally happened! How long did it take? 60 chapters? I hope you enjoyed this.**

**Happy birthday to mariafivi1, hope you have a great one!**

**I'm afraid that this story will be on a week long hiatus, as I'm going on holiday :(**

**But this is quite a good chapter to be left with for a week! No cliffhangers :)**

**Thank you so much for reading! Even more for reviews, everyone who leaves one is just amazing!**


	61. Kiss Me

**Kiss me - Ed Sheeran**

**I don't own anything apart from my Ocs!**

* * *

Ramona felt truly at home in the kitchen, as she searched for cereal in the cupboards, now dressed in her own grey sweatpants along with Sherlock's grey top tucked in, which was undoubtedly huge on her.

She reasoned with herself that Sherlock had made it out like he would be worse off without her, that she was doing the right thing by staying. After all, any sort of masterplan always involved him being targeted, it was only right that she was standing by, ready to leap in front of a flying bullet for him.

"Why is there no bloody food in this-" she begins, hissing to herself.

"Hungry?" Sherlock's voice from the hallway. Ramona turns around.

"Not really, you?"

He looks her up and down.

"Yes." A smile pulls at the sides of her mouth as he approaches her, knowing exactly what he meant. "Well?" She frowns in confusion briefly, looking up to meet his gaze.

"Well what?"

"Aren't you going to say it?"

"Say what?" He gives her a slightly frustrated look,widening his eyes secretively, causing Ramona to shrug. "Yeah, I don't know what you're...?"

"Oh, for God's sake."

"You want me to say that?" He fights off a laugh as he leans in closer to her.

"What you told me last night."

"I told you a lot of..." Ramona's eyes widen in realisation. "Oh! That."

"Yes. _That_."

"And you'd like to hear it?"

"If at all convenient." She looks up in mock thought.

"Hmm..." A smile grows on Sherlock's face, as she turns back to look at him, her face now serious. "I-"

"Oi, Sherlock!" Hannah's voice, and the door opening and closing.

They exchange a wide eyed look, as Ramona walks round tentatively to the living room.

"If he's taken off again, I swear to God I'l-"

Her voice is cut short, Hannah's eyes widening, her jaw dropping, at the sight of Ramona, looking at her hesitantly.

She takes in a shaky breath, flinching away from her.

"Y-you-" Hannah's voice was as tearful as her eyes. "You-"

"Helloooo." Ramona pulled up a casual grin, and watches as anger fills Hannah. "Just a bit not dead, lucky you."

"YOU BITCH!"

Ramona's eyes widen as Hannah throws herself at her, grabbing her throat and flooring her.

Pausing on top of her, before kissing her hard on the mouth, much to Ramona's shock, causing her blue eyes to widen.

* * *

"I can't believe you did that!" Ramona exclaims, sat at the dining table in the living room, her voice rising above the sounds of the television.

"You? Can't believe-?!"

"To be fair, I never _said _that I was dead." Hannah's mouth drops open in disbelief.

"Dead men don't talk, Ramona!" Ramona stifled a laugh.

"Okay, now you're starting to sound like a mafia boss." The girl's eyes narrowed.

"Stop with the jokes, and tell me what the fuck's happened."

"Fine. But cut it with the bad language, would you? It's too early for my delicate ears."

"Your _delicate _ears? _Yours_?"

Ramona gives her a look with a bit back grin, before they both burst out laughing.

"Okay, alright." She says, composing herself. "I, er, lost my memory for a bit. Amnesia." Her eyes widen.

"From... From a concussion?" Ramona frowns at her expression.

"Yeah. Why?"

"Oh my God. Sherlock's a genius."

"As lovely as that is to hear, less surprise would be better." Sherlock's voice surprises them both, turning to look at the hallway as he approaches, and stops at the mirror, taking the envelope from the centre and casually putting it into his blue dressing gown pocket, which was worn over his striped pyjama bottoms and a black T-shirt.

The documents had already been taken down from the wall, and subsequently thrown in the bin by Ramona.

"It looks like I owe you an apology, Sherlock." Hannah starts, smiling.

"Where _do_ you get that idea?" He remarks, walking closer to them.

"So..." Hannah looks from one to the other. "How are you both? With each other, I mean." Ramona's eyes widen, wondering what to say. Sherlock most probably didn't want anyone else knowing.

"Good!" She lets out, a little too loud and quickly. Ramona clears her throat. "Yeah. Friendship's stronger than ever. Good friends. We have even more in common now that I've faked my death too. Maybe we should start a club?"

Hannah raises her eyebrows with a smile, and Ramona turns to look at Sherlock, gauging for a reaction.

On inspection, he looked completely furious, staring down at her with burning eyes. She swallows, not knowing what she had done wrong.

He leans down, to murmur in her ear.

"Do 'good friends' do what we did last night?" The way his deep voice purred gave her chills, her hair standing on end.

"Um, well," Ramona stammered, her brain blowing a fuse. "Er..." She turned to look at him, their noses inches apart. "If they're really close, then..."

"God, will you two ever learn about personal space?" Hannah remarks, leaning back in her chair. Sherlock sighs softly, the moment now being ruined, ripping his eyes from hers and walking around to behind her, resting a hand on her shoulder.

"Says the person who just attacked and then snogged me a few moments ago." Ramona retorts. Hannah seems flustered for a second, before fixing her with a glare that wasn't quite full-hearted, slightly amused.

"It was a mix of emotions, alright?"

"Hmm..." Ramona teases. "Sure you haven't got a secret gay crush somewhere in there?"

"It must be _really _secret, if even I don't know about it." She replies, causing the edges of Ramona's mouth to pull up in a smirk.

"Don't worry, I missed you too."

"I missed you more, silly girl." Hannah starts trying to deal with a small knot in her beautiful mess of chocolate curls, her eyes glancing down every so often to her . "You know I cancelled my wedding for you?"

"Sorry, if I'd of known I'd really have tried not to evade death."

"Funny." There was a minute hint of humour in her tone. Ramona noted that Hannah was much sharper these days. However, it was because she no longer felt the need to put on an act. She liked this a lot more, Ramona decided. "Seriously, all the planning we did is all wasted."

"I don't understand your need to have it in Italy."

"Er- hello? George Clooney got married in Lake Como? How could I have it anywhere else?" Ramona chuckles lightly.

And then she freezes, upon feeling Sherlock's fingers combing up her hair from the nape of her neck, having to surpress a shudder.

"Anyway- there- there-" _You can do this. Just get your words out whilst Sherlock's touching your hair. Not hard. _"Iadviceaski-" Hannah raises a brow as Ramona takes a steadying breath. "I was asking... For advice." She can almost feel the smug look from Sherlock.

"Advice? You? Asking for-?"

"Oh, get over it."

"What's it about?" Hannah was now slightly intrigued, leaning forward.

"A job." Ramona smiles. "I want one." Sherlock retracts his hand, to her relief, and rolls his eyes.

"A job? Oh, dull." He dismisses the conversation and heads towards the kitchen. "When did I say you could get a job?" Ramona frowns, watching him.

"This morning."

"Did I? Bad move." In all truthfulness, Sherlock would rather she simply stayed at home with him all day.

"I'm sorry, you want a job? A proper one?" Hannah asks, fully shocked at the anti-career girl. Ramona turns her attention back to her other best friend, sighing softly, a small smile appearing upon her features.

"Yeah, it's funny, but dying really gives you a fresh perspective."

"Really?" Hannah was curious, leaning forward. She loved these types of things.

"When I thought- when I thought I had had my run, I regretted just about everything I'd done up to this point, everything I hadn't done."

"Wow." Hannah looked content with this. "So, got any ideas as to what you want to be?" Ramona considers this.

"What are my options?"

"For someone like you, I'd say every single door is wide open." Ramona felt a stab of guilt at the fact she had been wasting her talents. "Hell, you could be an astronaut."

"I put my foot down at astronaut." Sherlock could be heard, causing Ramona to bite back a grin.

"I don't think that's really my thing, space scares me." Ramona had truthfully always been bewildered by the notion that something could simply go on forever.

"Hm... You'd make a great policewoman." Ramona grimaces.

"Huge turn off." Sherlock speaks under his breath, inaudible to the two women.

"I don't look good in uniform." Ramona declines. Hannah had plenty more options, however.

"Forensic investigator?"

"Latex makes me cringe."

"Oh, a teacher! Kids love you!" Ramona's top lip curls in disgust.

"Me? What kids?" Hannah shoots her a look. "No, no. I hate schools. And the British education system."

"Doctor?"

"I'm not putting my hands anywhere near people's scratty infections."

"University professor?"

"Hate public speaking." Hannah was starting to get annoyed.

"Model?"

"You _are_ joking, aren't you? I'm 5'2 with a wonky nose." Ramona shakes her head.

"Wonky nose?"

"I've seen it in a few photos. It bends to the left in the middle slightly." Hannah rolls her eyes, as Sherlock, the only person that had studied her so much in depth apart from herself, nodded in agreement to himself, sitting down at the kitchen table and setting up his microscope.

"Surgeon?"

"Don't know my own strength and bad depth perception. Not exactly the dream combo, is it?"

"What about... A lawyer?"

Ramona considers this in silence for a few moments.

"What kind?"

"You said when you were little that you wanted to be a human rights lawyer, didn't you?"

"That was ages ago."

"Still, Ramona." She bites her lip briefly.

"Alright. Yeah, okay." It fully set in that she was actually going to try and get a proper job. A career. "Could you... Help me with my CV?"

Hannah beamed enthusiastically, getting her Mac out of her satchel excitedly.

"Oh, and why're you walking funny?" She asks absentmindedly, setting it down on the table and pushing the power button.

Ramona's mouth drops open and feels her face start burning in embarrassment. She 'accidentally' knocks a pen off the table and leans down to pick it up, hiding her abashed expression.

_Gait altering. This is the worst. Admittedly though, a good problem to have. _

"Yes, could you explain that, Ramona?" Sherlock asks teasingly, and she sits back up again.

"Er, well," She starts.

"It's like your knees are wobbly and your hips are sore..." Hannah considers this. "And you haven't had really good sex in the last twelve hours, so... Osteoarthritis?"

Ramona doesn't know whether to burst out laughing, start crying or push Hannah out of the flat and make her knees worse.

"I jumped off a cliff. Could that have something to do with it?" Hannah's eyes widen, looking into her face.

"Oh my God, you've had sex!" Sherlock freezes momentarily, looking down his microscope, and then, as a smirk tugs at the sides of his mouth, gets back to work, but listens in to her response.

"O-oh, now, come on! Give me a little faith, would you? I'm not a sex fiend!" Hannah leans in, now smiling secretively at her friend.

Hannah was three inches taller than Ramona, and leaned down to her.

"Come on, it'll be our little secret."

"There's nothing to have a 'little secret' about!" For some reason, this made Sherlock swallow, feeling a curling of annoyance in his stomach.

"I don't believe you!" Hannah's tone was sing-song.

"Would you shut up?! I come back to life and the first thing you get properly interested in is if I've shagged anyone?" Ramona was nervous that if anyone found out, Sherlock might not be interested anymore.

"Must've been amazing to make you walk like that."

"Anyone would think I'd gotten a part on The Ministry Of Silly Walks! Maybe I've just grown."

"Or maybe this is a classic case of ram it good." Ramona's mouth drops open, as Sherlock stands up.

"Hannah!" Her tone was outraged and embarrassed, like a school girl talking about their crush.

Sherlock walks to the hallway, and stops, briefly looking back to them, as if an afterthought.

"Oh, Ramona," The girls freeze and look to him. "You left your knickers in my bedroom, if you want them back at all." He turns and continues to casually walk away and into the bathroom.

Ramona is sat, shocked and frozen, staring after him with a gaping, disbelieving mouth.

Hannah's mouth drops opens, eyes wide, looking back to her.

"Oh my God!" Ramona remains completely stunned. "Really?! No way!"

_Sherlock Holmes, I really fucking hate you._

* * *

"I thought she was never going to leave." Sherlock states, sat in his chair, as Ramona looked through the kitchen, crouching down to look in a cupboard, throwing out all the food that had long since gone off with a disgusted expression.

"Well, she's gone back to her house now, so you're now in my care again." Sherlock rolled his eyes, but with a bit back grin, still reveling in the ecstatic disbelief that she was back.

Ramona was back. His Ramona.

"In your care, am I?"

"Bet your arse you are." She pauses, standing up and shutting the cupboard door, a can of beans in her left hand. "By the way, nice arse." She compliments casually, walking over to the bin and dropping the can inside. Sherlock feels the heat of a small blush spread across his face. "Where are my clothes, by the way?" He pauses.

"Your sister burned them." Ramona's eyes widen in horror, her mouth falling open.

"She did _what_?!"

"Said that it was better to get rid of it all or something. I had her on mute, so I'm not sure." Ramona feels real pain at the fact that she now had none of her old clothes.

"What... What about my... Please don't say that my-"

"Oh, please do relax, I wouldn't have let her take _that._"

"Oh, you beautiful man!" Sherlock hides a grin, as he leans from his chair to the side, and produces her leather jacket. She raises a brow at the location but says nothing, as he approaches her.

Ramona turns round on the realization that Sherlock was going to put it on her, and spread her arms on, shrugging it on and pulling the lapels forward, sighing in content at the feeling of it, the perfect weight and the instant way it just made her feel like herself, and then almost jumping out of her skin when Sherlock placed a kiss on the crown of her head.

"Thank God I don't have to put up with her incessantly swabbing my mouth anymore." He mutters, and she regains control of herself, turning to face him.

"About that." Ramona folds her arms. "Not too happy about the relapse, Sherlock." Her tone was suddenly completely serious, and his expression drops slightly.

"Not anything I can't handle." He desperately wanted to avoid the topic.

"Really?" He frowns lightly. "'Cos it sounds like you were in pretty deep."

"Ramona-"

"We need to talk about it, Sherlock." He huffs.

"I'm not going to do it anymore. Is that satisfactory 'talking about it'?" Ramona looks troubled as she considers this, and he feels guilty for a moment, although it was definitely a sore spot for Sherlock.

"Promise me?" A pang runs through him, his mouth parting slightly in shock.

"I... Promise."

Ramona's hand finds his, intertwining her fingers tentatively with his, watching for a sign in his face that he didn't want her to touch him.

She was ridiculously afraid that he didn't really want anything like that, and it made her doubt everything she did.

"I- is this alright?" Her voice was small, and it made him smile at how she could go from confident flirting to the sheepish vision of a girl he saw in front of him.

He tightened his grip of her hand, although he was also nervous.

"More than alright." Her heart jumps at the words, at the reassurance. Ramona smiles softly.

"I'm thinking; Chinese, film, tea and chocolate digestives." It was heaven. Sherlock had died and gone to heaven. He was convinced. "How's that sound?"

"Sounds better than my violin." Her smile grows, starting to grin like an idiot.

Sherlock leans down and presses a kiss to the side of her neck, making her grin drop and her grip tighten on his hand.

"But first, I think we've got some business to take care of first." His voice was husky and he stops and moves to look into her eyes. "Shall we begin?"

* * *

"OW! Jesus, Sherlock!"

Sherlock chuckles lowly as he adjusts his weight on top of her.

"God, would you- OW! Your hip bones are really bloody shar- OW!" The fire is the only light in the warm living room, as Sherlock gets comfortable. "Usually the lighter one on top!" He grins.

"We're cuddling. Isn't this what we're supposed to do?" Sherlock's voice from his mouth against her neck, his whole body resting on top hers.

"I can't feel my legs." She ignores the question and keeps complaining.

"Not for the first time today." Her mouth falls open and she smacks him lightly upside the head with a grin, causing him to laugh.

"Who'd of thought you'd be so heavy?"

"It's my huge brain." Ramona smirks.

_Not the only thing that's- I really need to go to church this Sunday._

She feels his fingers lightly playing with and hooking into the waistband of her sweatpants that were currently resting at her hips, pulling them down an inch, causing her heart to speed up.

"Sherlo- OW!" He stops.

"What? I didn't move."

"Not that- I-" She sighed. "Last night... You, er," His brow creases as gets up slightly so that he's on his hands and knees above her, studying her face intently.

"Yeah?"

"I bruise easily." She states, and blushes lightly. He frowns momentarily and then latches onto what she's saying, looking down to her hips, and seeing the dark red painful looking bruises, starting to turn purple.

"Oh." He states, and then puts a gentle hand to them, seeing how his fingers lined up perfectly with them. "I'm sorry, Love." Her eyes widen and she goes a deep red at the endearment.

"What?" He looks up to her expression. "Too soon? Too cheesy?" She laughs lightly, looking back up to him.

"Just a bit unexpected, really." He smiles sheepishly and slowly rests back down, truly getting comfortable, closing his eyes, his head resting in the crook of her neck.

"It's not really a pet name." He states, yawning lightly. "Can't be helped." Ramona's heart practically bursts with happiness, lightly stroking the back of his neck as his hand runs up her side and rests at her waist. "Idiot." She laughs a bit, and he feels the noise like a hum in his chest.

"That's more like it. I love you too." Sherlock's heart skips a beat, and he wonders if he'll ever get used to it.

"That's my line."

* * *

Sherlock wakes up groggily from deep sleep, lying on top of something small, warm, soft and breathing gently and deeply. He blinks slowly and rises up slightly, to see Ramona, sleeping peacefully, not a nightmare in sight.

The corners of his mouth involuntarily tug upwards, and he gives a small, soft sigh of content, brushing the blonde strands of hair out of her face, watching as her nose twitched from the sensation of hair being pulled across it.

"I love you." It seemed like it had just appeared from him, not even thinking about it, surprising him slightly. Wasn't this the type of thing he scoffed at? What would the past Sherlock say about how he was now?

Yet, it didn't feel as if he was doing anything wrong, anything stupid. It felt like the smartest and best decision he had ever made, it just felt so _right_. This girl that he had met on a train and she had thrown him off, not the actual train obviously, and five years later they were sleeping together, in all senses of the word. And he held not one ounce of regret.

However, he felt worry. A huge worry that she'd be taken away from him. This time, the stakes were higher than ever. After all that they had built, this huge connection of the mind and body, he wouldn't let her go. The worry that he was a bad partner was paramount, too. Sherlock had no experience at all in this department, because it simply wasn't his.

Solving mysteries? Count it done. Being a good boyfriend? Er... Call back later.

He hadn't a clue how this sort of stuff was done. Was he doing alright so far? If so, what was his rank of her previous boyfriends? From his knowledge she had had only two prior to him. Sherlock guessed that he must at least come before the boyfriend that had stalked her obsessively, then again, was he any better? What if he was awful in bed, too rough? Didn't know what to do on a date? Embarrassed her in public? Wasn't attentive enough?

Looking down at her perfect face, counting her freckles, his brow started to crease.

How could he possibly satisfy her? Keep her interested? The task was impossible, surely. She kept him thinking for hours on end, keeping him from boredom, but how could he know it was requited? That it was the same type of love that they were experiencing?

Scratch that, how did he know that what she was feeling was love at all? What if it was simply momentary infatuation?

What could someone like her possibly want with someone like him? Money? No, she didn't care about that. Power? She could get that all by herself, if the whim arose.

So what was it? What did she want from him?

"Morning..." She mumbles, still half asleep, not opening her eyes and stirring slightly under him, her head turning to the side.

Perhaps he was overthinking it? Then again, he had never- what if- and maybe-

"What're you thinking about? I can hear your brain going a million miles an hour." His thoughts stop in their tracks with a halting screech, and everything instantly stills.

The Ramona effect, he decided to call it.

"I..." He takes a deep breath. "Nothing. Just thinking about... Last night's film." Sherlock watches her eyelashes flutter as she opens her eyes, squinting slightly in the light room, before her pupils adjust and she looks straight up at him.

"Everything okay?" He frowns. How was she so good at reading him?

"Yeah, it was just a troubling film." Sherlock lies.

"I suppose I shouldn't have made you watch Titanic." Ramona puts a hand onto his arm with a small smile. "Sorry." He laughs.

"It's fine, I really wasn't that affected." She shoots him a look.

"You cried." His mouth drops open in outrage.

"I did not cry!"

"Oh, come on, Sherlock."

"I don't cry!"

"You were _so_ crying!" He huffs.

"Well, I'm sorry, but when Jack, when Jack-" Sherlock watches as she covers her mouth to stop from laughing in his face, her shoulders shaking in silent giggles, and scowls lightly. "Shut up." She shakes her head. "And you don't tell _anyone _that I cried, alright?" Ramona nods, still grinning, and takes her hand from her mouth, now slightly composed.

"Broken fridge." She states, making him sigh.

"Hannah told you about that?"

"Yep. Really is a great analogy. She should write a book."

"That's what I said!" They both laugh, and he leans in to kiss her. She puts a hand on the side of his face, and then grimaces falsely, pushing him away.

He frowns, looking hurt and resembling a kicked puppy, staring at her.

"God, you have awful morning breath!" She teases, and his face blushes lightly, and looks distraught for a moment.

"What? Oh, er, um-" He fumbles for words, feeling fully embarrassed. "I- It's completely natural, I can't-"

"Joking, Sherlock." She begins to sit up, pushing him back, and kissing him again, and his mind is momentarily nothing but white noise from the instant her lips meet his. "You've got lovely morning breath."

"Oh, shut up and fuck me." He pushes her back down onto the couch quickly, grinning in delight as he started pulling off her top, and throwing it to the side.

"No problem there." Her voice was breathy as he studied her once again.

This time, his eyes spot something that wasn't visible in the moonlight.

Gunshot wounds.

Sherlock freezes.

Ramona realises this and goes red, covering them not so subtly with her hands.

"Sorry. I- I know they're ugly."

He was still stuck to the spot, an incredible sadness overwhelming him.

"I understand. It's fine." She says, as if it were her fault. Her eyes were starting to sting with embarrassment, remembering just how unattractive they were, not blaming Sherlock for freezing.

"Um..." Ramona presses her lips together. "I'll go and get a shower." She moves to get out from under him.

"No." He says, and she freezes. Sherlock gently pushes her back into her original position, staring into her eyes.

"What?"

He takes both of her wrists and pulls her hands away from the completely healed bullet wounds. Sherlock's eyes start to fill, remembering just how much pain she had been in in the past.

The newest one- the one that Mary had inflicted- it was clean, from a silencer, from an experienced hand, with experienced paramedics, surgeons and doctors that arrived on the scene quickly, and she had fallen in the correct position. It was a simple, circular, silver mark.

The old one, however, was a completely different story. It had been inflicted whilst moving, and was from a more powerful gun, causing the affected area to be bigger. It looked as if the ambulance had also taken it's precious time. Sherlock considered it a miracle she hadn't simply bled out on the street. From the shot it seemed clear that she had fallen onto her front instead of her back. Imagining her lying on her own, blood pooling around- it made him feel physically ill.

"Sherlock..." It seemed she was also close to tears, but for a different reason. "Please."

Ramona didn't like him seeing them, that much was obvious. It was understandable. But he hated that she had anything like that on her. Not because it affected the way she looked, it couldn't if it tried. It was the fact that she was so utterly brought to pieces by it, that she thought it made her look ugly, that she thought he was disgusted by it. Like she could ever disgust him.

Before he truly registered what he was doing, Sherlock leaned down and kissed the first one on her chest, hearing her breath hitch in her throat.

"I once said that heroes don't exist." Ramona can feel his words on her skin.

He moves to the next, bigger, more heartbreaking one, pressing his lips lovingly to her skin.

"I now realise I was mistaken."

It seems that this makes her snap, hot tears suddenly streaming down her face, covering her eyes with an arm.

He struggles with the threatening lump in his throat, sitting up and pulling the mess of a girl up with him, wrapping his arms around her waist. Ramona's hands grip tightly into his shoulders as she cries into the side of his neck, sobbing in a way that made him want to cry too. It was completely heart-wrenching, the noises that seemed to rip from her, as if being taken by force.

Sherlock held her closer and started rocking ever so slightly, one hand stroking her hair, the other firmly at her back.

He hoped desperately that he was getting through to her. That he could right every single wrong in that beautiful mind. Because she deserved it. Ramona was a thoroughly good person, no matter what she thought of herself.

"Sher-lock," She got out, through gasping breaths and wracking sobs. "I- I-'m s-orry." Sherlock can almost feel his heart break.

"Don't apologize, it's fine. You have nothing to say sorry for." This only makes her cry harder.

It was obvious that the gunshot wounds were a sensitive spot of hers, possibly her biggest insecurity. And he had frozen.

Sherlock cursed himself internally, wondering if anyone had ever talked to her about her post-traumatic stress disorder in the early days, wondering if anyone had bothered to comfort her, wondering if anyone had been there for her at all.

And then, it hit him.

Ramona had truly been all alone. In those years that Hannah had only been pretending, those years that her sister was truly distant, those years that her mum had always been working, struggling to keep the three of them eating, keeping the rent paid. There was no one.

"I l-ove you." Sherlock tightens his jaw, and as he blinks, two silent tears skip down his face.

This girl.

"I love you too." His strong lock tightens around her, rocking more and pressing his lips to the side of her face. "It's alright. I'm here."

He listens as she tries to stifle her sadness, only to find that it made things ten times worse.

"I- it's not that- that I'm sad." Ramona moves closer into his lap. "I-I-" She was completely hysterical in her tears, a mess in his arms.

Seeing someone so strong so broken, he knew he had really hit something inside of her. Either broken or fixed something. Either way, the floodgates were wide open.

"Shhh," He comforts her softly. "I'm here." Sherlock didn't know what else to say. "I'm here now. I'm not going anywhere, Love. You don't have to feel like that anymore." The shoulder of his T-shirt was now soaked with her tears.

Emotion. There was so much of it in both of them, so much that it threatened to burst at every moment. Something he had thought to be so detrimental, and yet, here he was.

Ramona took a huge comfort in him. Sherlock was the warmest person she had ever met. Genuine, comforting; a bright glowing light in the surrounding darkness. He was fire on a cold winter's night. He was shelter from the violent storm. He was where the heart was, he was home. Ramona was back home, at last.

It wasn't that she was sad. It truly wasn't. But too many times she had received disgusted or awkward looks from her past boyfriends, from Toby it had been hands that fumbled and he had simply not commented, but his eyes said it all. From Kain it was hands that pressed too hard and dug in in all the wrong places, making uncomfortable tears of pain spring from her eyes on occasions, it had been hands that had no care for her wellbeing, ones that pressed into the wound accidentally and carelessly, and a look of simple disgust.

But Sherlock? He made her feel like they were good points, as if he loved them- as if he loved her. He made her feel full to bursting, as if she were beautiful inside and out. It was simply the way he held her, gentle and asking, making sure he was wanted, but with a presence, the way he spoke to her, full of respect and amusement, full of a caring she had never seen from any other man.

She wanted to tell him just how much she loved him, as cheesy as it was. Ramona could talk for hours on end about how she would do literally anything for him, how she would still love him even if he hated her. However, she felt cautious that she would scare him off. After all, this was Sherlock. Sherlock, the man who declared himself a sociopath, and claimed that he had no interest in romance.

Why was he doing this? Why was he telling her that he loved her back? For the love of God, why? The beautiful lie that he felt the same way was one that she was taken in by, and enthralled by. Ramona hadn't a clue why he was doing it, but she never wanted him to stop. She could live in this charade that he was putting on, even if it meant being lied to. The girl knew that Sherlock didn't love her, but, oh, she wanted him too. So much that it made her chest ache.

Noticing that the sobbing had now slowed and was more gentle, the drizzling rain after the storm, he stops rocking, but Ramona doesn't stop clinging to him. And he doesn't want her too.

"Ramona?"

"I'm really sorry. I don't know where that came from." Why did she insist that everything was her fault?

"Never say sorry for crying again, Ramona." He feels a stab of shame as he wipes his face subtly. "Not to anyone." He feels her nod, and encircles his legs around the small woman, who was now wiping her face completely dry, starting to get the after-cry shivers, her teeth chattering ever so slightly.

Ramona leans back and then puts her head to his chest, turning so that her ear was resting against him. Sherlock starts to stroke her back as she listens to his heart, going too fast to be calm.

Sherlock wasn't sure how long he was going to hold her like this, but he knew that he would for as long as she wanted.

* * *

**:') And so the week-long hiatus is ended!**

**Was it fluffy or sad at the end? I can't decide haha**

**Don't you love a good break from all the angst and drama? Don't worry, things are going to kick back into gear in a few chapters. **

**Thank you so much for reading! And lots of love for anyone who leaves a review, it gets another chapter out of me quicker!**


	62. From Eden

**From Eden - Hozier**

**I don't own Sherlock**

* * *

A piercing scream is ripped through the living room of 221B.

Ramona almost jumps through the ceiling, turning round to the doorway as Sherlock smiles fondly at the familiar reaction, dressed in his suit with a white shirt and his blue dressing gown, vaguely skimming the newspaper, sat at the living room table.

"Hudders!"

The woman at the door looked as if she had just suffered from a minor heart attack, and Ramona decided she wouldn't be surprised if she had.

"R-Ramona!" The girl smiles, walking over to the woman and grabbing her into a hug.

"In the flesh." She replies, releasing Mrs Hudson.

"Who isn't coming back to life these days?!" The old, speechless woman puts a hand to her forehead in relief.

"I hear it's all the rage." She winks at her, making Sherlock chuckle to himself. "Want a brew?" Ramona offers.

"Ooo, you wouldn't, would you?" She grins and goes over to the clear glass kettle, flicking it on.

"Look what I found." Ramona produces her phone and purse from her pocket, waving them around a bit. "Like I never even left." She pauses slightly, putting down the things in her hands onto the kitchen counter, dropping a tea bag into a mug. "Apart from my room. It's completely blank."

"Yes, well, not like you'll be needing that anymore." Sherlock mutters, basically to himself, behind his newspaper.

Ramona switches on her phone, after it had died the night before.

She still couldn't believe her luck. Three days, and absolutely nothing. She might just be able to get away with this. Besides, what could they do to her? Kill her?

_Pfft, been there, done that, bought the overpriced t-shirt._

No, she didn't care about what they did to her. It was just about Sherlock, like always, as pathetic as it was. No one had ever come directly for him, anyway. There was always a build up, and there had only been one time where she had failed him.

Ramona struggles to suppress a shudder at the thought of his fake suicide, and shifts her mind elsewhere.

"'Just a bit alive, if anyone minds.' Even for a tweet, it's a bit concise." Sherlock brings her out of her train of thought, as the kettle finishes boiling. Ramona picks up the kettle and proceeds to pour the steaming hot water into the mug.

"Short and sweet." Ramona didn't want to dwell on it.

She wanted to act like none of it had ever happened, like they were just two normal, albeit dysfunctional, bloody brilliant geniuses, one of whom happened to be in love with the other.

She watched as her phone came to life, and she put her thumb onto the home button to unlock it, before realising she had a message. Frowning, she went to open it.

"Just like how you like your tea, Mrs- CRAP!" Mrs Hudson jumps from the sudden noise, as Sherlock raises a brow, putting down the newspaper.

"Mrs Crap? That's a new one." He remarks.

"No, no this isn't- Oh my God!" She rushes over to her leather jacket hung on the living room table, feverishly putting it on and going to her shoes at the door.

"And where exactly _is_ the fire?"

"Kings Cross!" He frowns, getting up.

"What's going on?" She pauses momentarily, turning around to him, and looking at her phone.

"'Mona, hi, it's Ciara." Mona puts on an Irish accent that sounds exactly like her sister. "Don't know if you remember me, we came out the womb together. Good times. Congrats on the whole not dying thing. That's a cool trick. Mum's freaking out, she's delighted. Keeps saying that you're the second coming or something, and that she's the new virgin Mary. So yeah, mum thinks your Jesus now. Anyway, me and Ben (my fiance, if you've forgotten) want to go on a break. However, we have a kid attached at the hip to both of us. Paddy. You know, the cute little boy that asks too many questions? Well, he can't stay at mum's, for obvious reasons. It'll only be this weekend, nothing ridiculous. Kings Cross, 10:30 am tomorrow. Harm my child and I will rip your throat out. CD'"

Sherlock was still trying to process just what was happening.

"This text was sent yesterday!" She checks her watch, the face on the inside of her wrist instead of the normal way. "Fifteen minutes! We have fifteen-fucking-minutes to get to Kings Cross!" Sherlock's eyes widen, before he takes off his dressing gown, rushes over to his coat, quickly pulling it on and grabbing his scarf. He briefly turns to the mirror to make sure he looks presentable, to Ramona's outrage.

"Your hair looks fine, Sherlock! Shift your arse into gear!" She pushes him.

"Alright, alright!" He acquiesces, being herded down the stairs by the small and suddenly very stressed girl.

"Sorry about the tea, Hudson!" She shouts up the stairs, before running out of the house and hailing a taxi.

* * *

"Four minutes." Sherlock states, as he pays the taxi driver, before getting out, Ramona following briefly afterwards, shutting the door with a 'thank you'.

"Could she _get _anymore insane?!" Ramona cries, as they start pacing quickly into the train station.

"Ah," He points a leather-clad finger at her. "You sound just like Chandler Bing from that program you made me watch last night." Ramona decided not to comment on how he could remember the characters name but not the name of the show.

"I'll let you watch more Friends with me if we snag this child." She says this a bit too loudly, and a woman gives her a funny look as she passes Ramona, who doesn't notice. "Who does this? How does she know that I'd even see my phone in time?" They both quickly descend the stairs into the bustling train station.

"But you did, didn't you?"

"That's _besides_ the point!" She looks around.

"That's the train, come on." Sherlock grabs her hand and starts to run towards a train just pulling up, causing her to stumble for a second behind him, before finding her footing and running alongside him. "He'll be in first class, that's where they put all the children travelling alone, with an attendant." He informs her, and they run up the length of the train to the end, finally reaching the last carriage.

Sherlock stops suddenly, causing her to crash into him, looking into one of the windows with a smile. Ramona's heart jumps on the realization that they were still holding hands.

_God, what are you, a primary schooler? An American? Be careful you don't catch 'cooties'(!) Don't worry, he's wearing gloves. Wait, can they pass through gloves? What if it's airborne- Are you really debating the possibilities of catching cooties from holding hands with Sherlock? Concentrate!_

"We've found our lonesome traveler." He says, his smile growing.

Ramona follows his gaze, to see Paddy, who had not yet noticed them, sensibly packing up his little book into his impossibly cute leather backpack with straps, dressed in jeans and an old-fashioned, very much in style patterned jumper. One that she could imagine John wearing.

A kind-looking woman that was wearing a train-attendant uniform leans down to him with a smile, saying some words to him that Ramona couldn't hear, but made Paddy smile and nod. The woman then straightens up and takes a small leather suitcase from the overhead, passing it down to him.

"We can't handle a kid, Sherlock." The detective didn't look too phased.

"A child? Please. Dead easy." She turned to him.

"What about the flat?! As much as I hate to diss it, it's not exactly child-friendly, is it?"

"What's wrong with the flat?" Sherlock looked from the window down to her. "We'll be _fine_." Her eyes widen in disbelief.

"Sherlock, last night we had sex on the kitchen table, which three hours after you had a beaker of some sort of flesh eating chemical on." A reminiscent smile spreads over his face, eyes clouding over slightly.

"Oh, yes. Yesterday was rather good, wasn't it?"

_How is he so calm?! How?!_

"You're _really _not getting the point here!" He sighs. "A-alright, this will be okay, it'll be fine." Ramona was starting panic now, trying to calm herself down. "It will be absolute A-okay." The train doors start to open. "Sherlock, some rules. Number one; you never show him any dead bodies. Don't even mention dead bodies. Don't even _acknowledge_ dead bodies. Number two; try keep the smart-arse thing down to a minimum. Number three; Violin playing stops at ten. Growing boys need their sleep." He considers this for a moment, and then takes a sharp intake of breath.

"I'll just be myself."

"Just be-!" She grabs the lapel of his coat and pulls him down to her. "William Sherlock Scott Holmes, you show that boy murder victims and I promise you that I will burn your dressing gowns," She pulls him in closer so that their noses are almost touching, her voice turning into a venomous hiss. "And make you watch."

He stays frozen for a moment as she continues to stare into his eyes seriously. Sherlock narrows his blue eyes for a moment.

"Would it be inappropriate to tell you that I'm-"

"Auntie Mona!" A childlike cry and Ramona forgets about any tension that was building completely, releasing him and turning toward the train, crouching down and beaming as Paddy runs into her open arms.

She stands up with the small boy in her arms and spins around, her heart singing as the boy in her arms laughed.

"Paddy!" Ramona holds him at an arms length, a hand under each armpit, surveying him cheerfully. "Look at you! You've grown, Mister!" He gives a giggle and she sets him down, already completely swept away by his adorableness.

The train attendee hands Sherlock Paddy's suitcase with a look of sympathy, having been a witness to a scene in which Ramona had threatened and then forgotten about him as soon as a nephew came into the mix. Sherlock gave a tight smile and took it from her.

"This is Sherlock, Pads." Paddy cranes his neck to look up into the face of the towering man, and an expression of fear starts to flit across his features at the stoic six foot detective, with calculating, cold eyes and raven curls that set around his sharp features.

Sherlock frowns at this reaction, and simply looks to Ramona in confusion, in search for an answer. For some reason, this breaks Ramona's heart, and smiles gently down at the frightened little boy.

"He's not scary, there's no need to be afraid." Sherlock smiled uneasily down at him. "Look;" She reaches her free hand up and pulls lightly on one of his curls, causing Sherlock to yelp in pain. "See? No-one scary has a sensitive head." He turns to her in annoyance.

"I do not-" Sherlock stopped, upon hearing the light laughter of the small boy. It softened something inside of him, and the detective crouched down so he was level with the child, still unsure as to what to do. Sherlock held out his hand to the boy to shake, and a small hand with chubby fingers grasped around his four outstretched fingers, shaking them vigorously. He laughs at the look of intense concentration on the boy's face. "Sherlock Holmes. Do you remember me?" Paddy frowns, before a look of enlightenment makes his eyes widen.

"You're Moany's husband!" This only makes Sherlock laughed again, not having to look up to know that Ramona would be trying to hide a blushing face. Paddy grinned mischievously and released Sherlock's four fingers, quickly trying to grab a fistful of black hair. Sherlock pulls back expertly, raising a brow.

"No hair-pulling." The detective had a strange thing about having his hair pulled, and he felt that it hurt a lot more than was reasonable. The boy nods in obedience. Sherlock bites back a smile, then stands up, suitcase still in hand.

"So Paddy," Ramona outstretches her hand and Sherlock goes to take it, but Paddy gets to it first. "Have you ever been to London before?"

The detective watched with a parted mouth as Paddy looked at him from over his little shoulder, gave a condescending and mischievous grin and stuck out his tongue with as much menacing enthusiasm as he could muster.

Sherlock's mouth falls open, eyes widening, completely disbelieving as to what he had just witnessed.

Had he... Just been cockblocked by an eight year old?

He shook off the preposterous notion, deeming it nothing more than a product of possessiveness and slightly amusing, shaking his head at himself and catching up with the two, walking next to Ramona.

"I've never been here before. Mummy says that it's a dog-eat-dog city full of snakes in suits." Ramona's eyes widen at the remark, slightly speechless.

"...Sorry?"

"Snakes in suits." He repeats, and then looks to Sherlock. "That man's in a suit. Is he a snake?"

"_That man?!_" Sherlock's tone was incredulous and disbelieving. "I'll have you know I'm your uncle, and I don't think-"

"Paddy, that was mean. This is Sherlock. My Sherlock." The detective's stomach does a flip that he tries to ignore. "You call him Sherlock. Alright?" She was stern, but Ramona was stifling a laugh. "And to my knowledge, he's not a snake. One hundred percent human being. Free range." At this she starts laughing, and Sherlock finds himself chuckling too.

* * *

Ramona drums her fingers in impatience on the kitchen table, phone pressed to her ear, watching as Paddy was cooed over by Mrs Hudson, while Sherlock watched her from a small distance.

One ring.

Two rings.

Still no answer.

_Why does she have to be like this? Why? Why can't she just pretend that we're a relatively normal family?_

"Hey!" Ciara's voice was too cheerful, and Ramona found her teeth grinding of their own accord.

"Ciara. Hello."

God, you're so English. Why're you so English?"

"Shut up, and answer me quickly. I'm not in the mood for you."

"You never are." Ramona bit her tongue and stifled a brief sigh.

"Not when you throw my nephew on us with no prior warning. What's that about?"

"Me and Ben wanted a break! Is that such a sin? Family life is so stressful, y'know."

"Aw," Ramona put on a false sympathy. "Was all the money and the privately schooled kid getting too much?" There were a few moments of silence down the line, and she wonders if she might have crossed the line.

"Look-"

"No, _you _look." Sherlock presses his lips together briefly, leaning in closer to hear her sister. "Putting Paddy in danger like that is absolutely unnecessary. This is _London_, Ciara. You realise what scumbags roam this town? Scum that roam every town? Anyone could have picked him up. Anyone!"

"But they didn't, did they?" The Irish lilt was tight with supressed annoyance. "I trust you, Mona."

"Ramona." She corrected, although every effort was futile.

"I trust you," Ciara carried on. "Even with my own child. Come on, you got him no problem." Ramona huffed heavily.

"Fine. Whatever." She waved a hand of dismissal in front of her, turning to Sherlock, his eyes searching hers as she spoke to her sister. "It's good to hear your voice." Ramona blurted out, before cutting off the phone, and putting it in her back pocket, now addressing the detective that stood before her. "Sorry about this."

"It's fine." He honestly looked like he was fine with it. Was he really fine with it?

Ramona turned her gaze to the table, on which lay Paddy's backpack. She bit down on her lip, unbuckling it and pulling open the leather, looking through the contents.

Inside was a well-thumbed children's book, presumably his favourite and more advanced than was suitable for his age range, a small Tupperware containing a selection of fruit, a jumper, a glasses case with a pair of very fashionable and very expensive looking glasses inside, and finally, a letter. A letter addressed to them both. Ramona rolled her eyes.

"Over-dramatic, narcissistic, self-important-" She muttered halfhearted insults under her breath, briefly scanning the contents of the pristine white a4 paper. "She wants us to take him ice-skating? Really? And to the... And... God, forget the next few days, Sherlock."

Glancing up to him, he looked a bit put-out.

"I wanted to have the flat to ourselves for a few days." He sighs heavily, as if the weight of the world was now resting firmly across his shoulders.

She exhaled heavily, turning around to the child and old woman in the living room, taking a few steps forwards, clapping her hands together briefly in enthusiasm.

"Alright, Pads, a few days in the big city, where'd you wanna go first?" His eyes practically glittered with innocent excitement as he turned to her.

"The museum!" Ramona paused in slight surprise, as Sherlock raised his eyebrows.

"Well, it's free, at least." She reasoned.

* * *

Every visitor to The Natural History Museum of London is greeted by the huge, skeletal dinosaur, towering above everyone in supremacy, ivory bones stretched and held up by elegantly strong, thin steel beneath it.

The museum was fairly full with tourists and bored Londoners who had been here thousands of times before.

Paddy gasps in amazement, running over to the focal point of the shrine of ages long since passed, species long since extinct.

Ramona's heart jumps in anxiety and panic, easily losing sight of the small boy in the masses of people.

"P-Paddy! Wait for Auntie Mona!" She sprints after him, and Sherlock stifles a smile and an eye roll at the same time, as she grabs him quickly, heart racing a bit too quickly to be calm. Ramona puts a hand on each of his small shoulders, and the boy look up to her face. "Paddy, listen to me; never run off like that ever again. Okay?" He nods quietly, and she closes her eyes in relief, letting out a breath she didn't realise she had been holding.

"I never pegged you for one of those paranoid parents." Sherlock remarks, as she warily studies the crowds of people.

"Hold my hand." She tells Paddy, and he quickly does as he's told, before turning to the detective, turning her voice into a quiet one as the boy holding her hand seems to tune out, studying the stunning architecture of the cathedral-like hall. "Kids are so fragile. Just like childhood. One incident can shatter the whole thing, it's all it takes. You hear about it every night on the news; another kid gone missing, another found in a skip, at the bottom of a river, found dead, or even worse..." She looks distant with mildly masked horror, before snapping back out of her own head. "It's scary, and I don't like it. Not one bit." This troubled Sherlock, but he tried to be enough unaffected for the both of them.

"I think he's safe with _us_, Ramona. Trust yourself." She looked down briefly, back to Paddy, who was looking around in excited glee and awe. The childlike wonder and innocence of him made her feel sick with worry.

"Please just keep an eye on him." Ramona's tone more sincere than pleading. "I'm being paranoid, but better safe than sorry, right?" He couldn't fault her reasoning.

* * *

"Sherlock, look at this!" The three had now wandered around the museum for a good part of an hour, and Ramona was surprised to realise that they had enjoyed it lots more than anyone had expected.

They were now in the grounds of the huge cathedral of nature, the chiseled stone of the old mixed with the sleek glass of the new mesmerizing her for a second.

"What is it?" He approached her with a smile on his face, Paddy walking beside him.

"It's a bee tree. You like bees, don't you?" She points, and he looks a bit too eagerly.

"Oh, I've heard of these." Sherlock walks over to the tree, and pulls the hinged rectangles of trunk apart as if a cupboard, to reveal a bee hive behind glass. His face lights up at the sight.

"A hollowed out tree, pretty cool if you ask me." He chuckles as she folds her arms with slight pride that she had found it, and moves so that Paddy can see, hovering an index finger just in front of the glass.

"That's the queen, do you see?"

"Why's it the queen? What makes her so special?" Sherlock can't help but see a bit of his curious self in the boy's nature. "Was she elected?" They both chuckle and share a look, as overhearing passer-bys smile to themselves.

"Well I'm glad you asked, Paddy." Ramona struggles not to roll her eyes, at the detective obviously keen at the rare opportunity to show off his bee knowledge. "They choose female eggs at random and relocate them into bigger cells, or, 'queen cells'. These female larvae are fed richer food than the worker larvae. To be specific- in the first three days of their lives, worker larvae and queen larvae are both fed the rich royal jelly, but only queen larvae are kept on it, allowing them to mature faster and become queens. The cells are then capped, the larvae create pupae and transforms into queens. The first queen to emerge communicates with the other ones through piping- they create vibrations in the comb. The roaming queen creates a sound called 'tooting,'and its sisters answer it with 'quacking'. The free-roaming queen then goes cell-by-cell and kills them all." He smiles widely.

"Why does she kill them?" Paddy asks, to Sherlock's slight annoyance.

"Natural selection."

"What's that?"

"The process whereby organisms better adapted to their environment tend to survive and produce more offspring. Originally proposed by Charles Darwin- the statue in the entrance- natural selection is the process that results in the evolution of organism." Paddy looked even more dumbfounded, and Ramona gave the know-it-all detective a raised-brow look, a smile tugging at the sides of her mouth. "What?"

"What's evolution? What's an organism? Who's Charles Darwin?" Sherlock's grin only grew, knowing he now had a never ending outlet for his favourite pass time- showing off.

"Evolution is the gradual development- change of different animals. For example, dogs come from wolves, at one point there was only one kind of wolf, and when some of the wolves migrated they had to adapt to live in the different climates, so there became different types, different species, so that today we have the coyotes and foxes. Then humans intervened and domesticated them, and today we have hundreds of different types of dogs." It was clear Sherlock was trying to make it easier for him to understand. "An organism is a individual animal or plant. Charles Darwin was a man from the olden-days who traveled the world for a few years, and came back with different animals for this museum, wrote a pretty good book that helped to move science along."

Sherlock glanced up to Ramona to see if she was satisfactorily impressed. She was. His mouth quirked into a self indulgent smirk, before looking back to the boy.

"How do you know all that?" His eyes were now sparkling with admiration at his newly found idol.

"I'm a bona fide genius."

"Can I be one?"

"Anyone can be a genius," He replied, straightening up. "It's being a good one that's hard."

"I think there's a butterfly house somewhere around here," Ramona starts, looking around and spotting the huge tent that was permanently placed next to the building.

Crossing the grass and joining a queue to get inside, it wasn't long until they were hit with the sudden humidity and closeness of the artificial climate inside the white tent.

Inside there was a winding gravel path, surrounded on both sides by plants, and more importantly, butterflies of all shapes, sizes and colours, some fluttering about, some sat on large leaves, some precariously perched upon beautiful flowers, some fluttering around, and some were bold enough to land on visitors.

Paddy takes a few steps forward, his sparkling eyes transfixed on a huge owl butterfly stretching its wings just at his height. On its wings were a false image of an owl's eye, and wearing the tawny camouflage of the same bird, hence the name.

"Stay still and they'll land on you. They're very friendly." A museum worker tells them, and Ramona laughs happily at the delighted boy's expression, turning back to the butterfly and freezing, as if flesh and blood had become stone in an instant. The sounds of joyous laughter and delighted, astounded and cheerful chatter was infectious, giving a warm and blissful, almost cliche-like utopia to the place.

She turns from Paddy to Sherlock, to see that he was already being affected by the heat in that big coat, however was watching a medium sized turquoise butterfly flutter about carefully with blue eyes that seemed to verge on green at every moment.

"You fancy butterflies as much as bees, then?" At this he's pulled out of his trance, cracking a smile and turning his gaze to hers.

"We need the bees. Butterflies are useless that die within a month." He was still smiling as he delivered the pessimism that he might have labelled as 'logic'.

Sherlock realised quickly that he had made a mistake from the way her expression faltered, and took a sharp breath to quickly apologize for his behaviour, but was met with a sound that was his redemption. Her laughter.

He looked up to see Ramona lost in amusement, and started to chuckle at his own idiocy along with her.

"When we're retired, I'm gonna get butterflies just to annoy you." At this moment, Sherlock happened upon the fact that she whole-heartedly accepted him, faults and all.

He was suddenly beaming down at her, heart jumping slightly at the fact she was planning- albeit joking- about the future. More specifically, their future.

"Well, I suppose I'll have to put up with it, if you insist on leeching onto me for the rest of my life."

She draws a breath to reply, however is interrupted.

"Look!" A child's hiss. "Auntie Mona, look at me!"

They both turned to the source of the noise, to be alerted to the fact that the owl butterfly had found a place to call home on top of Paddy's head, not weighing enough to leave a dent in his mass of hair.

"Wow!" Ramona enthused genuinely, laughing in amazement, pulling out her phone. "Hold still..." She took a photo of the sight, Paddy pulling a stupid face at the camera. "Haha, that's one for your mum and dad!"

"I like flutterbies!" Her mouth falls open at the adorableness, struggling not to squeal, Sherlock admittedly starting to feel his face ache from smiling, that unfamiliar yet homely feeling.

"Don't you dare correct him, Holmes." She murmurs.

"Wasn't planning on it." He replies, placing a hand on the top of her head.

"Did you know, Paddy, that flutterbies wear their skeletons on the outside?" She took another photo, reveling in the cuteness. "And that they can taste with their feet?"

"I wonder what my hair tastes like..." The small boy pondered, turning of his own accord and walking further, obviously having to think very hard on this philosophical, age old question of life.

"Flutterbies. That is the cutest." She states, following him slowly, Sherlock close behind, leaning down to speak into her ear.

"Do you like the flutterbies, Ramona?" He mocks her with a falsely condescending tone and a grin, and she rolls her eyes, turning to him to retort.

However, she doesn't get the chance, as as soon as her face is turned, his closes the inch and presses his lips to hers, putting a hand on her face.

Ramona's eyes widen, feeling her face heat in embarrassment at the very public display of affection, although then deciding to not care, grabbing the lapels of his coat, leaning up on her tip toes and pulling him in, closing her eyes.

At this point, she knew that they were a cliche, and if she was a witness instead of the offending party, she would have needed a paper bag for somewhere to put her breakfast. However, if was more sweet than sickly when it was her. She then realises that not only was she a cliche, but also a winning combination of both that and hypocrite. Not that she cared.

"Um-" There was a very British clearing of a throat next to them, and Ramona was brought back down through nine clouds to planet earth, pulling away and letting go. "Sorry, er, no... kissing in the butterfly exhibition. Sorry." The young man looked very embarrassed to be dealing with it at all, but not as embarrassed as her.

"Oh, of- of course, sorry, sorry." She spluttered, her flushed face now visible. She tries to regain her thoughts, slightly annoyed that no amount of humility was spared upon Sherlock, who didn't seem to be affected by the very polite telling off in the slightest.

The boy nods quickly, laughing nervously a bit, and turning and walking away.

"God, that was embarrassing. Could you warn me next time before you-" On turning to Sherlock, she promptly lost her track of thought. "How did you...?"

He had a hand held out, and upon one long, outstretched index finger was a blue tiger butterfly, the sea and sky tones of colour against the main black on its wings echoing his eyes.

"Beautiful." He murmured, studying the intricately winged insect as it sat perfectly on his ivory skin.

"Yeah," She agreed, although not sure whether she was reffering to the insect of Sherlock. She decided not to come to a conclusion on that. "It likes you."

"Mm." He hummed in agreement.

"I don't think they like me, though. Is it my-" She was stunned into silence, as the biggest butterfly flew over, heaving it's large green and black wings, before deciding that the end of her nose was the best place to take a rest.

Sherlock starts to chuckle at her shocked expression, vision partially blocked by the immense span of wing, the green inside the borders of black painted like stained glass.

"I think that one likes you." He states.

"It's bloody massive!" She hissed, furling her fists in a cringe at the large, long, slightly furry body resting on her nose, feeling the small sticks of legs on her face. "Oh God, this is awful, it's too big. Sherlock, I don't like it." She let out a whine that constituted as an audible cringe.

"It's just a butterfly, Ramona."

"It's tasting me with its feet. Get it off me!"

"I think you should consider going full time with that look. I rather think insects suit you." He replies, bemused with her.

"I suppose... It's sort of nice? Like maybe-"

"Hold that thought." His free hand retrieved his phone, and he quickly snapped a picture of her, before she had time to protest.

"What was that?" Ramona was understandably confused.

"What was what?" He replies innocently, putting his phone back in his coat pocket, looking away from her. "Oh, look, a monarch. Because we definitely don't have any of those here."

* * *

Back at 221B, having finished a very well deserved meal of fish and chips, Ramona sat on the bed of her old room having had tucked Paddy in in his adorable cotton pyjamas, as he yawned widely, Sherlock leaning against the open door-frame, watching with his fingers wrapped around a mug handle, wearing his blue dressing gown.

On the ceiling different colours swirled and intertwined, produced by a plug-in light projector of Paddy's that was sat on her bedside table. His big eyes watched, and his eyelids started to become heavier.

"Is this alright? Not too noisy? Too dark?" The small boy shook his head, ripping his gaze from the hypnotizing colours to his auntie.

"No... This is just perfect. Your bed's comfy." Ramona broke into a smile, pushing his hair, that was damp from a bath, out of his face and bringing her hand to the side of his face. "Where are we going tomorrow?"

"Wherever you want." He smiled contently. "What did you like about the museum, Pads?"

"I..." He thought for a moment. "I liked the whale and the dinasour skeletons, and I liked the volcanoes..." His eyes started to close, and she felt fully satisfied. "I liked the big and the small animals, even if they were stuffed... I really liked the dodo bird..." She found herself not able to rip her eyes away from her nephew, and silently decided she definitely loved him. "I liked the... I liked the sparkly rocks... And the earthquake room... The... Gift shop..." He mumbled for a few moments, and was then silent, chest rising and falling slowly in a peaceful fashion.

The two stayed still, watching him sleep, and somehow not being creepy about it.

She slowly got up, creeping out of the room and ushering Sherlock out of the way, leaving the door a crack open for Paddy.

"Today's really taken it out of me." She states, starting the short journey from Paddy's temporary bedroom to Sherlock's. Or theirs. Or Sherlock's. Whose bedroom was it exactly?

"I don't see how something so small can have so much energy in it." He agrees, admittedly starting to feel sleepy himself.

"He's like the Duracell bunny on speed." Ramona replies, causing him to chuckle, as she entered the bedroom, and he closed the door behind him.

"He said he liked the gift shop. Try crack." At this, she laughed, promptly letting her body fall like a log onto the bed, crawling up it and under the covers.

"Straight to Bedfordshire for me, I think." She remarks, fluffing her pillow, as Sherlock took his dressing gown off in the dark, hanging it on the back of the door and then getting into the bed next to her.

She turns on her side and leans over Sherlock, hands either side of his head on the pillow, their noses almost touching.

"Goodnight. And thank you for today, you've been brilliant." Ramona closes the last inch, briefly kissing him. "You're brilliant." Her tone was softer and genuine.

He stays still for a second, before putting a hand on the back of her head to keep her in place, and returning the friendly kiss with something very different.

When Ramona feels his tongue on hers she loses all track of time and space, their hot breath mixing as she got up on her knees under the covers, moving her body across and straddling him.

Sherlock's free hand goes to her waist, going down and underneath her pyjama top, then to her bare back, gently running his nails up her spine with just enough careful presence to elicit a shudder.

She starts to grind against him ever so slightly, causing him to moan into her mouth.

Ramona wasn't sure how long this went on, but it was for so long that Sherlock was practically whimpering against her.

He raises his hips to try and gain more desperately needed friction, that she was deliberately withholding from him, torturing him. She pulls away from the kissing and smirks, pushing his hip back down onto the bed.

"No, stay still." Her voice was breathy and quiet, gaining her breath back as she moved to talk into his ear. "Now, tell me; what do you want?" Her lips brushed his earlobe ever so slightly as she whispered. If he had not already had been aroused, he had now fully lost himself to the feeling.

"Oh, please," He chokes out, voice husky. Ramona kisses the corner of his jaw, and continued to torment him.

"Please what?" She was enjoying herself way too much. "Come on," Her hand runs down the centre of his torso, and he feels she cannot move quickly enough. "Please what?" He groans in frustration as her hand plays at the top of his pyjama trousers.

"Ramona..." He decides to try and play her at her own game, putting a hand on her bare thigh.

"Ah-ah," She takes his hand by the wrist and removes it from her thigh, pinning it down onto the bed. "Do that and I'll stop all together. You wouldn't want that, would you?" Her grip becomes gentle until it leaves his wrist, and he watched as she leaned back, undoing the first button of her pyjama top, and he swore he could see the flush of her face.

Suddenly she freezes, turning her head to the side and looking at the closed door, as if seeing something he couldn't. Sherlock follows her gaze, frowns and then looks back to her with a perplexed expression.

"What is it?"

Ramona didn't reply, but then something made her eyes widen, and she rushed to get off him and out of the bed, in such a feverish fashion that her foot got caught on his leg, sending her crashing down the floor.

"Ramona, what-"

She shoots back up, pacing to the door and buttoning her pyjama shirt back up. "Can't you hear that?"

At this, a hint of irritation starts to poke at Sherlock. "Hear what?"

"Listen!" She hissed.

On hearing faint shouts and little sobs, his eyes widened.

"That's..."

She opens the door, and Sherlock gets up, but she holds out a hand to stop him.

"Please don't let my seven year-old nephew see you with a boner, Sherlock." He freezes, looking down briefly, and then back up in embarrassment.

"Oh... Yes, of course." She nods quickly, leaving the bedroom, and he hears hurried footsteps that were almost a jog to his room.

"Paddy?" She whispers, the door creaking slightly as it opened. She walks over to the bed, switching on the lamp on the bedside table to fill the room with warm light.

When the light came on, it was apparent that Paddy had been crying sat up in bed. She feels a pang run through her, mouth dropping open in shock, sitting on the bed with him, crossing her legs and pulling his small body into her lap, rocking him as he continued to heartily cry.

"Did you have a bad dream?" She asks.

"Mhm." She feels him nod against her. Ramona picks him up properly, shuffling off the bed and standing up, slowly walking around in an attempt to calm him down.

"Do you want to tell me what it was about?"

"A-a giant,"

"Yeah?"

"He p-picked up the house-" Paddy's sentence is interrupted by more sobs.

"He picked it up?"

"Yeah, and, and, he was looking in all the w-windows for us, he wanted to eat us, and I had to hide, and he was looking in my window- and he was really big- and- and-"

"Would you like to see that he's not there now?" Paddy was starting to calm down now, as she wiped the tears from his face with her sleeves, walking over to the window.

"Y-yes please."

Holding him with one arm, she outstretched another to pull back the curtain, revealing a city that was still bustling with life, but somehow quiet from where they were.

"Look, see?" She smiled at him, pointing out at the window. "Nothing's trying to eat us."

"Giants aren't real, are they?" She finds herself hesitating to reply. Unbeknownst to her, this is the point that Sherlock appears in the doorway, pausing, stopping, and silently watching, a smile starting to creep onto his face.

"They... They could be."

"Mummy says they're not real, so does daddy."

"Well," She begins, not sure where she was going. "Mummy and daddy can't see them, that's why." Her index finger points off to the corner of the window. "Look there, can you see one?"

"A giant?"

"A giant. He's huge, but he tries to tiptoe around all the cars, towering above even the shard. He loves the city, and he loves the people. He'd never _eat _anyone! That's an offensive stereotype." She smiles at the boy. "Look, he's keeping everyone safe. He has his own giant family, a giant wife and giant children, and he's got a giant Labrador, and today they all visited the giant butterflies." Ramona saw a sparkle in the boys eyes, and something tugged at her heart. "Can you see him now?"

Paddy nods ever so slightly. "I can see him."

"Good. Giants aren't anything to be afraid of, see? They just want to help. Do you see?"

"Yeah." They spend a few moments in silence, simply watching the invisible giant go about his business.

"Do you get bad dreams often, Pads?" He nods slowly, looking from the window to her.

"A lot."

"So do I." Ramona pauses. "Well, I used to." She continues to watch the city.

"What were they about?" This catches her off guard slightly.

"Hm? Oh, just the same as you... Monsters."

"Monsters? What kind?" She sighs.

"The person kind." Ramona seems to linger on this notion for a moment, before bringing herself out of it.

"Why don't you get them anymore?"

"I don't know." She replied. "I think... Maybe, it's got to do with where I sleep."

"Why would that matter?"

"I'm not sure, I'm still trying to figure that out myself." She shook her head, almost to herself, and then, looked back to the boy in her arms. "Do you know what I used to do when I had a nightmare, Paddy?"

"What did you do?" He really did ask a lot of questions.

"I used to open the curtains, and watch the city." She moves closer to the window, now putting her fingers against the glass. "Look at how it moves, like a living, breathing thing, as if it would still heave with light even if it was empty." She gestures to Big Ben. "Look at how the clock hands move, even when no-one moves them." Her hand moves slowly again, this time to the barely visible top of the London Wheel. "See how it turns?" He nods. "Slowly but surely, making time for nothing but itself." She took the final step, so that the sky was fully visible. "And the stars! They're the best bit!"

"There are a lot tonight."

"There are, you're right. Which one's your favourite?" He took a moment, and then pointed upwards.

"That one." He pointed to one that was separated, yet surrounded by other bright white clusters.

"Oh, that one's the north star."

"What's the north star?"

"It always points north. It's a pole star. Did you know, that years ago, hundreds, in fact, ships would use the stars to get home?"

"Could you tell me about the ships?" Paddy said, with a small yawn at the end.

"Hmm... I think I do have one or two pirate stories, actually." She smiles, although completely lying.

"Tell me one, please."

"Er, um, one minute, I-"

"There was once a pirate called Redbeard, and he was the king of all the pirates." Sherlock's soft baritone shocks her, although Paddy seems to be too sleepy to be affected.

"The king!"

"The king." He confirms, walking closer into the room, gesturing for her to pass Paddy over to him. "And one day there was a huge storm while they were at sea, and it threw them off course so severely that they hadn't a clue as to their location. His pirate crew, the most loyal and wanted crew to ever roam the seven seas, said to him; 'We're lost, we don't know where to go. We have a map, but it's useless now that we don't know where we are on it.' For a whole day they sailed aimlessly, not knowing what to do, thinking that for certain they were doomed to die. When night came, they had completely given up hope, and Redbeard had retired to his quarters." He took a few steps to stand besides her, looking up to the stars, his profile illuminated and cheekbones dramatized by the street and moonlight. "He decided to go onto deck for one last time, to think. He paced and paced, the sea calm, the sky clear."

"Were there a lot of stars?" The boy in his arms mumbled, eyes closed.

"A lot. Hundreds. Thousands." Ramona watched him as if he were the best thing since sliced bread. "Too much to count. But, Redbeard was smart. As he looked up, he recognised the stars, the constellations, the north star, but they were in a different place in the sky as they were usually. He had an epiphany. Using the stars to guide them," He turned, slowly walking over to the bed. "They got home the very same night." Paddy yawned. "Would you like to know how many stars there were that night?" The boy nods in response, and Sherlock smiles. "There were ten, nine, eight," He lays Paddy gently down onto the bed. "Seven, six, five," Sherlock tucks him back in again, whispering now. "Four, three," The detective straightens up. "Two, one."

Just like that, Paddy was sound asleep.

Ramona simply stood there, staring at him, as he turned the lamp off, leaving the room dark again, slowly walking over to the door. He stood, watching her in silence, as she followed him, closing the door behind her.

Sherlock was still back in their dark bedroom, unsure of what to do, as she still just looked at him.

She took a step towards him, got onto her tip toes, and kissed him slowly, a hand in his hair. Unable to convey anything without touch, this was her substitute, making sure he knew, making sure he knew just how she felt about him. He wrapped his arms around her, and eventually she pulled back, resting her forehead against his, still running her fingers through his hair.

"Words cannot begin to describe how I feel about you, Sherlock."

"I can think of a place to start." He presses his parted lips to hers, coming to the realization that he could spend hours simply kissing her, and never grow bored.

"Mm," She got out, in between kisses. "So can I."

He pushes her backwards, against the wall of his bedroom.

* * *

**More fluff for you!**

**I'm sorry about the wait, I've been quite busy this week! **

**Okay, so this is what's going to happen with this story, I'm basically going to put a *time freeze* on it, so this means that there will be no huge plot developments, for example the Watson baby being born or any more appearances from our villains. This is so that once season 4 starts I can keep it canon! **

**Also, I have an announcement, which is sort of the reason that the wait for this chapter's been so long! **

**I'm going to start a Victorian AU of this story, which I'm quite a bit excited for! The first chapter'll probably be uploaded within a few hours of this, so if you'd like something to read in between this, feel free to take a look! **

**Thank you for reading! And even more gratitude if you leave a review :)**


	63. My Number

**My Number - Foals**

* * *

"I'll be amazing at this." Ramona stated.

"How do you know if you've never been ice skating before?" Sherlock replied.

He straightened up on his now perfectly fitting white ice skates, as Ramona kept fiddling and readjusting the awkward clips, finally finding the right amount of tightness, and taking a step towards him and Paddy, who was stood next to the detective with his own pair, which were blue and looked a damn sight more expensive than the rink ones.

The boots were surprisingly heavy, as she made her way to the entrance to the large ice rink, which wasn't crowded, there must have been around forty people skating, which was definitely a good thing, giving them a good amount of space.

"I think you'll be great, Auntie Mona." She grinned down at Paddy, and then gave a raised-brow look to Sherlock.

"See? At least someone has confidence in me." Ramona turned back to the boy. "Thank you, Pads. I hear you're a speed skater in training."

"Yeah! My teacher says that I could go Olympic!" She felt a surge of pride.

"That's amazing! You'll have to teach Sherlock, I suspect he'll fall on his bum a fair few times." The detective rolls his eyes with an allowing smile. "Well, you two first."

Paddy gets onto the ice first, easily swanning around, as if land was his secondary habitat.

After that is Sherlock, who seems to get onto the surface with a fair amount of ease and confidence, concentrating on his movements, and then waiting for her, outstretching a gloved hand towards her.

"Do you need help getting onto it, Love?" Her heart sung in her chest but she didn't let it show, rolling her eyes and shooing him with a hand.

"I think I can step onto ice, thank you very much." She snorted with laughter, and Sherlock shrugged in a 'suit yourself' sort of way, but still watching as she took a wary step down with her left foot, testing the slipperiness, holding onto the side.

As she applies more weight onto her left foot, it slips forward, and she gasps in shock, pulling back into safetly quick enough as to not fall.

"Are you sure?"

"Yes I'm sure!" He raised his eyebrows, a knowing smirk of amusement starting to creep onto his face.

She tries again, slower this time, eventually getting two blades onto the ice beneath her, although staying firmly stuck to the side.

"Wow, he's really good." Ramona remarks, as Paddy glides past at speed, and turns a corner so precisely that ice chips beneath him. "He must have a good centre of balance."

"Yes, almost as good as yours." Sherlock retorts, mockingly.

"Oh, go away! I bet you fall over at least twice!"

"I beg to differ." Sherlock glides forward easily, looking like a natural, even daring to put his hands in his pockets. "I'd say I'd taken to it, actually."

"Taken to it." Ramona mumbled bitterly, "Of course he's bloody taken to it, why wouldn't he?" decided that she would simply have to learn the hard way.

Ramona pushed herself off from the wall, moving forward without taking either blade off the ice.

"S-see? I'm a natural, too. I-" She waves her arms about, trying and inevitably failing to gain balance. "I- I think I'm getting the hang of- OOF!" Ramona collided with the ice straight on her coccyx, sending the pain straight up her spine. "Oooww," She wailed in agony, rubbing her bum, her face a frown of annoyance.

Sherlock skates over, casually crouching down to her, and quickly takes a picture of her sat on the ice, finding that a grumpy and annoyed Ramona was still quite an adorable one.

"Need a hand?" He puts his phone back into his coat pocket.

"Shut up!" At this, he laughed heartily, outstretching a hand that this time she took, albeit begrudgingly.

He straightened up with ease and brought her with him, and as soon as she was on her feet she let go of him, this time trying to move her left foot.

She did so, and started to smile. Next was her right, and then the left. Ramona outstretched her arms for balance, taking another glide.

"Don't put your arms out."

"Please, I've totally got the-" She reels backwards once, and this is enough to make her arms instinctively flail at her sides. "The- I've got-"

Ramona lurches backwards again, and this time it was enough to send her to her bum.

"Two left feet?" She sighed in pain and annoyance.

"Fine, okay? I can't do this." Ramona watched as he came into her field of vision, staring up at the towering man. Admittedly, he was surprisingly graceful with his long limbs on the ice.

"It's just like dancing- a simple matter of weight distribution and how you move your feet, Ramona." He holds out a hand that she takes again, brushing herself off. "Do as I do."

Keeping a tight hold of his hand with both of hers, she simply kept both blades firmly planted on the ice, a small add-on to Sherlock's new found prowess.

"You have to at least try, Ramona."

"I don't."

"You do, otherwise I'll leave you in the middle of the rink and you'll have to make your way back on your own." At this image, he laughed. "Actually, I might do that anyway. I can imagine that being extremely entertaining." He started towards the middle.

"No no no! Please!" He chuckled, turning away from it, and she let out an exhale of relief. "Alright, okay."

"Excellent. Watch my feet."

She did as she was told, and started to mirror him with her own feet, as Sherlock glanced up every other moment to check that Paddy was fairing well, which of course, he was, and had actually gotten chatting to two miniature ice skaters his age, who, judging from the tutus, were dancers.

Ramona lets out a squeal as her feet go from underneath her, quickly letting go of his hand and instead grabbing onto his arm for support, clinging tightly to it.

"I can't do it!" He sighs as her feet slip again, basically running on the spot for a moment before Sherlock took hold of her elbow with the arm that she was holding onto, stopping her fumbling.

She looked up at him slowly with an embarrassed expression.

"Right, now, just-"

At this, Ramona flew to the ground suddenly, going forward, twisting and landing on her back, winding herself.

Shocked, Sherlock looked around to see what had made her fall.

"Are you alright, auntie Mona?" Paddy was stood at her head, looking down at her.

In response, she let out a groan of pain.

At this, Sherlock burst out into laughter. Ramona gritted her teeth and growled, rolling onto her hands and knees and somehow getting to her feet, although now frozen in the centre of the ice rink, unable to move without falling.

"Yeah, ha ha, very funny Sherlock, this is just so hilarious." He half composed himself for a moment.

"It is, isn't it?"

"J- just come help me, please." His eyes sparkled at the opportunity to antagonise her.

"Paddy, would you like some chips from the rink-side cafe?" The little boy looked at him warily.

"Sherlock!"

"I'll let you have a go on the claw machine, too." Paddy's face lit up and he forgot completely about his auntie, skating off to leave her.

"What are you- where- don't leave me here!" Sherlock stifled a laugh, looking at her with a straight face.

"I'm not leaving you. I'm going to get chips." He turns to leave.

"Don't you dare get chips!" Sherlock stops, looking back round at her.

"Or what? Are you going to attack me?" He chuckled. "From there?"

"I-I-" She splutters for words. "I'll- I'll dump you!"

Sherlock freezes, eyes widening and staring at her in silence for a moment.

"...What?"

_Shit. _

"Er..." She resembled a rabbit in the headlights.

"You'll... _dump _me?"

"Wait, I didn't mean-"

"So we're going out?" Ramona's heart jumps, her mouth starting to become dry.

"What?"

"We're- you're saying- we're- me and... you?"

"What about us?"

"I don't know. _You _said it."

"No I didn't."

"You implied it."

"That's not the same thing."

"Yes it is."

Ramona found herself speechless and horrified. There was a pause, in which they simply stared at each other.

"If..." She starts, feeling her heart pound against her chest. "If you want, then... If you'd- do you- will... Will-"

_God, am I really asking him out? _

"My answer's yes." Sherlock interrupts her fumblings with a small smile, and her face starts to heat.

"Er, will you come and get me, then?" At this, his eyes widen.

"That's what you were asking?"

"What?" She frowns.

"What?" He repeats rapidly. Sherlock looks around, and then back to her. "Don't worry, I won't leave you stranded." She smiles as he approaches.

For some unknown reason, Sherlock stumbles, eyes widening, and loses balance, waving his arms about in a comic fashion.

His coat flies as he falls face first onto the ice at her feet.

Ramona takes a moment of complete disbelief, before quickly descending into hysterics. Her sides starting to ache as she clutched at them, eyes starting to well up as he slowly got onto his knees.

Unable to breath from the laughter, she too fell to her knees, putting her head to the floor with shoulders shaking, laughing loudly and heartily.

"It's not that funny." He pouts.

She looks up at him, still laughing, and his mouth starts to tug into a grin, and then, broke out into baritone laughter.

"You- you absolute mug!"

* * *

"Now only one, alright?" Ramona crouches down to Paddy, who's currently got his thumbs tucked into his leather backpack straps, looking like a schoolboy from decades long since passed. "And nothing over forty quid. And nothing big. And nothing-"

The three stand at the entrance to Harrod's toy department, otherwise known as 'toy kingdom'. It was outfitted to resemble something straight out of a child's dream, or perhaps a Roald Dahl book or perhaps even Alice In Wonderland.

Huge fake branches intertwined and leaned onto each other to form the arched entrance, children and parents mulling around, all very wealthy, all very spoilt.

"Go and find the biggest, most expensive, most inconvenient toy you can find, Paddy." Ramona frowned in light annoyance, as Sherlock smiled warmly at Paddy's look of pure glee.

"Sherlock, I hope you realise that this is your money. I don't have anything until I get a job." She told him, as they made their way under the entrance.

"Then you better get a job quickly." He murmured, looking to her with a playful smirk as she rolled her eyes, although starting to smile.

"Since when have you been so generous?"

"Since you started sleeping with me." He takes a sharp lungful of breath. "Lovely shop this, isn't it?" Her eyes widened and her face flushed, looking to the floor.

"Actually, that's a point." She tried to recover from the embarrassment. "Could it be that all mardiness was just 'cause you needed some?" Sherlock chuckled, putting an arm around her shoulder, causing her breath to hitch in her throat, as he pulled her in closer.

"I wouldn't be surprised." Something caught her eye in the corner, and she grinned.

"Look, kiddie's umbrellas! Oo, do you reckon we should get Mycroft one as a laugh? How annoyed would he be, do you reckon?" Ramona laughed in light amusement at the thought of the look of pure disdain upon Mycroft's features.

"And there goes my good mood."

"Come on, he's not that bad." Sherlock paused, eyes widening, stopping and looking down at her.

"'Not that bad'? We are talking about the same person, aren't we?"

She shrugged. "He's just protective because loves you. And rightfully so."

Sherlock visibly cringed. "God, do you have to be, _so,_" He grimaces and gestures with his hands. "Understanding all the time?"

"I'm only understanding 'cause it's understandable. I mean, I know if I were your big sister-"

"Then what we're doing would be illegal and very, very wrong, on every imaginable level."

Ramona giggled at this. "Imagine me, in a three piece suit, leaning on an umbrella, giving little sniffs,"

"Stop," He smiled lightly.

"Always vaguely referring to national secrets,"

"Ramona," Sherlock's grin was staring to grow, as was hers.

"Telling you the flat was disgusting,"

"Ramona!"

"Despite always coming over uninvited,"

"I'm warning you,"

"Implying that you're childish,"

"Dear God,"

She straightens up, turning and looking at him deadpan straight in the eyes.

"Brother mine."

At this, they both burst out into laughter at Mycroft's expense, Ramona turning and giggling into his coat as his hand moved to the small of her back, also trying to keep his sniggering down to a minimum volume.

Then, he froze.

"Ramona..." His voice was ominous, frightened. She slowed, disliking the tone.

"What?" She stepped away, apprehensive, looking up to meet his gaze.

"Where's Paddy?"

Her eyes widen and a pang runs through her, turning round to scan the people.

Ramona feels her heart start to speed up, panic quickly rising and infiltrating every part of her.

"Fuck!" She hissed, running through the people and away from Sherlock, instantly forgetting about everything but the potentially lost child.

Internally, she shouted every swear word under the sun.

"Oh God, no, no," Ramona mumbled under her breath, realising that she couldn't find him anywhere. "Paddy! Paddy!" Her voice was muffled by the sounds of the crowds, barely even audible.

She feels panic-stricken tears start to fill her eyes, feeling sick to her stomach with worry.

Before she could descend into further anxiety, there's a rough hand on her shoulder, spinning her around.

A slightly breathless Sherlock now faced her, his expression one of anger.

"Stop running off, for God's sake!"

"Sorry, I- I just-" Noticing her expression, he's taken aback.

Sherlock puts his hands on either side of her head.

"Listen to me; do not panic. It's not British."

"But I'm a panicker! He's lost, Sherlock, what if we never see him again? What if he-"

"Just shut up. He's still in the building, so firstly we go to the doormen, tell them to watch out for him if they see anyone trying to take him out of the shop. Then we check the CCTV. Dead easy." Ramona felt her features soften, her heart calm. "Worrying isn't logical, it only hinders rational thought. So stop." She finds herself nodding, feeling idiotic.

"Yeah... Yeah, of course. Sorry."

Sherlock quickly leans in to kiss her forehead. "Sorry for telling you to shut up." Ramona smiles sheepishly. "Come on."

"Why did you two run off?" A small voice from beside them.

The pair exchange a look, before slowly turning towards the source of the noise.

Paddy stood before them, innocent as could be, grinning up at them.

"I want this!" He shows them a Harrod's teddy bear.

"Patrick Cillain Broadcroft," Her Irish side was definitely starting to show, menace in her voice increasing. "You are in a lot of trouble, young man!"

Sherlock smirked, and as she looked at him for support, his face changed completely to mirror hers, deciding to keep the bemusement to himself, for his sake.

* * *

Paddy bounced in his cinema seat beside her in the dark, devouring the box of popcorn on his lap.

Ramona eyed him, and then turned to Sherlock on the other side of her, who looked mildly amused, as he watched the animated family film. She had already apologized to him for making him sit through the film, Inside Out.

She looks back to the screen, leaning back and crossing her legs, checking her watch. Her left arm was sharing (fighting for) the arm rest with Sherlock's right arm. He gave her arm a shove to try and hog it all for himself, and Ramona pushed back equally hard.

"First it was fish with feelings, then cars, now it's emotions with feelings." Sherlock's subtle murmur into her left ear made her hair stand on end.

Ramona turned to him to reply, and found that he hadn't moved his face an inch away, and didn't intend to.

"Fish do have feelings, just not very advanced ones." She whispered back to him, looking straight into his eyes. "In a few years, there'll definitely be some sort of car with AI. Plus, emotions have other emotions that go deeper, for example, fear and anger make confusion, joy and fear make excitement."

Sherlock raised an eyebrow at her as she turned back to the film.

"Why is disgust green?" Paddy was referring to the personification of the emotion on screen.

She leaned down to him. "Dunno, it's just a nice colour." Ramona was slightly irritated, but let it go, concentrating on the film again.

"Why is green a nice colour?" She stifled a scream.

"It's only a nice colour if you think it it, Pads. Just my opinion."

There was a minute of silence from the rudely talkative boys.

"Is green your favourite colour?" She rolled her eyes in the dark, leaning back down to Paddy.

"Yes, yes." She lied.

"Is it because you're Irish?" Ramona curled her toes inside her shoes.

"Yeah, why not."

Two minutes passed, and she relaxed again.

"Ah, found a plot hole." She gritted her teeth as Sherlock began speaking to her again.

"For God's sake, Sherlock. Shut up."

He paid her no attention. "When she runs away from home she leaves in the morning and walks to the bus stop. When her parents come home to find her missing, she's still walking to the bus stop. Approximately six hours later." He snorts. "Meet the little voices in your head telling you to leave the theatre." Ramona rolls her eyes again.

"I like it. Anyway, it's a kid's movie, it's not meant to be realistic, just fun."

"What's the point of it being fun if it doesn't make any sense?" She wondered if they were just trying to annoy her.

"Oh my _god_, I don't-"

"If she can read, why didn't she say that the sign said danger and not short cut?" Sherlock quizzes her.

"I didn't make the bloody film, Sherlock, I don't know!" This sudden outburst receives a few dirty looks and shushes.

She blushes in embarrassment and turns to face the film again, scowling.

Sherlock lightly pulls her hair back from her ear, leaning in to whisper in an almost impossible baritone. "Just winding you up, Love."

Ramona leans back into her seat again, a smile starting to tug at the sides of her mouth, as his hand turned hers so her palm was facing the ceiling, and starting to play with her hand absentmindedly.

* * *

"D'you like comics, Pads?" Ramona asks, back in Baker Street, sat behind the little boy with crossed legs on the couch, combing through his wet hair carefully.

"I've been reading yours!" At this she freezes momentarily, imagining him carelessly turning the pages too violently, ripping them. Sherlock raises a brow and turns to look at her, sat at the living room table and on his laptop.

"That's... nice," She swallowed, before deciding to try being less childish. "What did you think of them?"

"Rubbish!" He cries happily.

Ramona inhales deeply, before letting the lungful of oxygen go.

"R-really?"

"Daddy says that DC is rubbish!"

"WHAT?!" She stops combing his hair completely, frozen in shock horror.

"Daddy says that Marvel are better!"

"Well maybe 'Daddy' needs to take his head out of his-"

"Maybe Daddy needs to give it more thought?" Sherlock says quickly, giving her a warning look, as she realises her slip-up.

"E-er, yeah..." She makes an apologetic face at Sherlock. "That."

"Superman is too powerful, anyway."

"Admittedly that is a fault, but what makes him interesting is his moral code, a superhero is so much more than their powers, hasn't anyone ever told you that?"

"Spiderman's my favourite. And Batman isn't a real superhero. He's not cool."

At this, Ramona goes completely rigid, getting off the couch and standing up.

"I don't know what they've been teaching you, but you will never speak of him that way in my house." She was deadly serious, and Sherlock hid a snigger. "Batman isn't just _a _superhero, he's _the _superhero. He's not someone that just had it fall into their lap, he worked to acheive that perfection. He's a detective in a mask, isn't that cooler some puny teenager who just _happens _to get bit? Hm? Bruce Wayne is philanthropic playboy billionare by day, masked crusader by night, fighting evil only with his bare fists and the gadgets he makes himself! Now isn't that cool?"

"No."

She huffs.

"Me and your father are going to be having serious words."

"I'll book the ring, Paddy, you take the bets." Sherlock states.

She shoots him a look, and he smirks, turning back to his laptop.

* * *

Paddy was in bed, and Ramona and Sherlock were now both sat on the couch, the fire flickering lazily, the television playing something they didn't care about, sharing a pizza straight from the box in between them.

On the coffee table was a bottle of white wine and two glasses, which Ramona had insisted on, seeing as it was, after all, a feat that they had managed to actually take care of a child without killing it or at least leaving it seriously maimed whilst in their hands.

"I'd say we make alright nannies, wouldn't you?" She asks, taking a bite out of a slice of pizza.

"Well, if the whole detective thing ends up not working out, we can always set up shop as babysitters." They both chuckle.

"Sherlock, what was your childhood like?"

"Boring. Oppressive. Traumatizing." He looks at her. "Boarding school was fucking awful. For me, anyway."

She flinches at the use of the F word from him, realising he must mean it if he was going to such lengths.

"Jesus, I can imagine. State school's just as bad."

"I always wondered what they were like."

"Teachers don't really care, they're not payed enough. If you didn't have money for lunch then you didn't get any. We got our textbooks as hand-me-downs from the local boarding school."

"I suppose I shouldn't complain, then."

"No, go on."

"Well, being smarter than everyone else didn't help on the whole... social part." He grimaced. "Imagine having a bad day at school, and then not getting to go home afterwards. Having to sleep in the same room as your bullies every single night. Not seeing your parents for weeks on end."

Her face was one of horror.

"It was my own fault, really. Couldn't seem to just not be cocky." His eyes were far away, obviously reliving some awful memories.

"That's terrible."

"it wasn't that bad. Everyone just..."

"Hated you?"

Sherlock nodded slowly, swallowing."Yes, that."

His expression full of physical pain for a moment, before snapping out of it, as she placed a hand over his.

"I'd rather not talk about it."

"Is... is that why you don't wear a tie?" Sherlock's eyes widen. "Swot knots?"

"More wine?" Sherlock swerved the question with grace, leaning forward to grab the bottle of wine and take her hand, that was curved around a wine glass, pulling it towards him and watching as he filled the glass.

"Sherlock," He set the bottle down again on the coffee table. "Have you ever been to a sleepover?"

He gave her a look, silently confirming that he had, in fact, never once been to a sleepover. Ramona's heart sinks in sadness, but decides that instead of useless sympathy, she'd do something that actually said something.

"Then let's have one."

Sherlock's brow creases. "One what?"

"A sleepover."

"A sleepover." He repeats incredulously.

"Alright..." She folds the now empty cardboard box, putting it onto the floor beside her. "Let's play a game." Sherlock raises a brow, interest now piqued.

"A game?"

"Answer," She looked pointedly to him. "Or drink." She shifted her gaze to the wine bottle on the coffee table. He rolled his eyes.

"Should've known it would have been associated with alcohol."

Ramona laughed. "We'll start with an easy one. Most inappropriate places to fall asleep."

He only gave it a second's thought.

"Insomniac support group meeting."

At this they both chuckled. "Now you ask me."

"First kiss."

"Year two on the playground. He was eight, I was seven." She laughed as she remembered. "We had a pretend wedding, whole congregation and everything. A six year old officiated it, it was a very private, luxurious affair."

Sherlock shook his head with a smile.

"Okay... What's your secret fetish?" His eyes widen and he double takes.

"Sorry, what?"

"Y'know, the weird, inappropriate turn-on that every man has."

He shakes his head. "I don't have one of those."

Ramona grins. "Bullshit! You're _lying_!"

He grits his teeth. "Shut up, Ramona."

"Oh, I bet it's filthy. All those sexually repressed years- try lifetime. Plus you're posh; toffs are always the worst. And privately educated, you barely even get a sex education in private schools. And-"

"Fine!" He gives in, and she's giddy with anticipation. Ramona could use this to her advantage, use it to embarrass him or blackmail him.

One thing was for certain, she'd never let this go.

"You, alright?" her train of thought stops completely, and she freezes momentarily, looking up to him.

"What?"

"You."

"Me?"

"I don't particularly _know _what it is, it's just..." Sherlock surveys her. "Something about you, I suppose."

She smirks, ego now fully inflated. "It's the leather jacket, isn't it? Everyone loves a badass jacket."

"I just love a badass."

Ramona takes a moment, before bursting out into laughter.

"That was so cheesy!"

"I-I was only joking."

"You corny bastard! Never say badass again, for the love of God!" Sherlock pouts, slightly embarrassed, a bit amused.

"My turn." He was going to try and humiliate her as much as possible. "Have you ever fantasized about me?"

Ramona's eyes widen and her face instantly flushes, taking a moment to compose herself, before going to the glass.

"You have!" He deduces. She snaps her eyes to him in annoyance.

"Of course I bloody have, alright?" Sherlock's heart flutters and he can't seem to suppress a smug smile.

Ramona decides that it was time to embarrass him even more, and suddenly realised that this had become a game of who could humiliate each other the most.

"Okay," Her eyes glitter with playful menace. "Give me a sexual fantasy of yours."

Sherlock swallows subtly. "I don't fantasize, waste of time. My mind has room only for logic." Ramona realises that his words were starting to slur ever so slightly, and smirks.

"Come on, Sherlock, contrary to popular belief, you're a human being. Tell me."

"No."

She leaned in closer.

"Just between me and you. I won't tell." He clenches his jaw, staring at her for a moment, before looking away, eyelashes fluttering in a series of speedy blinks.

"It's a normal day, and I'm reading the paper." Ramona eyes widen.

"Story time!"

Sherlock fights an amused expression. "You come out of the bathroom in my dressing gown - I'm not sure as to why it's mine - and tell me the shower's not working, and if I could fix it."

She rolled her eyes. "As if I'd need help fixing a shower."

"I admit it lacks accuracy, but it makes up for it in..." His voice trails off, and he clears his throat. "I go to the bathroom and step into the bath, and you close the door behind us, and stand behind me in the bath. I check the shower and it works. I turn around to you, asking you why you needed help..." Ramona noticed parts of him starting to react to the tale. "And you take off your dressing gown, and it turns out you're wearing nothing underneath. Needless to say, after that, things get a bit more..."

He stops, pursing his lips and turning to her. Ramona was sat in silence, stunned and staring at him with wide eyes. Sherlock internally cringes.

"Bit weird, I know. However, I _was_ a virgin living with the most attractive woman I had ever laid eyes on, so perhaps cut me-"

He's cut off by her mouth on hers.

* * *

"And you have your lunch?" Ramona quizzes the little boy, as Sherlock passes his bag over to the train attendant.

Paddy nods, tears starting to appear in his big eyes.

"And your teddy bear?" Another nod. "And your ice skates?" Another nod, and her voice becomes choked. "Toothbrush?"

Paddy nods again, and she ducks down, sweeping him into a crushing hug.

"You ever want to come visit you come straight down here to cool auntie Mona and uncle Sherlock, alright?"

"Yeah."

"Be-" She breaks off, straightening up and following him as he gets onto the train. "Be a good boy for your mummy and daddy as well."

"I will."

"And tell daddy that he knows nothing about superheroes." Sherlock puts an arm around her shoulders. "Goodbye, Pads."

"Bye bye, Auntie and uncle." Something in her heart bursts.

"I love you! Don't eat all your lunch at once!" She shouts, as the door closes.

The train departs, and they watch in silence, as it speeds out of sight.

Sherlock turns to look at her, and his eyes widen.

"You're crying?"

"No, it's raining directly onto my face." Sarcasm was thick in her voice, as he pulls her into his chest.

"That's bloody adorable."

"Shut up!"

* * *

**Aw :')**

**Bits of fluff are so comfortable to write **

**Thanks for reading! I'd love reviews, if you've got the time, just to motivate me to write more! **


	64. Blue Monday

**Blue Monday - New Order**

**I own nothing but my OC!**

* * *

"So, er, like this?"

Ramona stood at the window, Sherlock's violin under her chin and holding the bow with her left hand, facing inside, brow furrowed and tongue stuck out ever-so-slightly in concentration, her blue eyes fixing firmly with determination on the sheet music resting on the stand.

She carefully pulled the bow over the strings of the ridiculously expensive instrument, only managing to get an unholy screech out of it. Ramona scowled in frustration, having spent close to two hours on the damn thing.

"This is so stupid, it may as well be bloody witchcraft! What do I have to do, sell my soul to get something that doesn't sound like a dying cat?!" Sherlock chuckled, watching her technique carefully.

"You're doing it all wrong, that's why." She scowled at him, still annoyed.

"No, doing it all wrong would be throwing it out the window." Ramona cast her gave to the ceiling in pretend thought. "Which, currently, is quite tempting, actually."

"You're being too rough with it." Sherlock told her.

He walked around her so that he was directly behind her, taking a soft hold of her wrist, and guiding it back.

"You need to be gentle with it." Ramona suppressed a shudder at the voice that so close, she realised resembled a jaguar. "Don't force it. You should be working _with _it, not against it."

"Oh... Okay." She managed to squeak out.

"Your postures terrible, too."

"Cheers."

Sherlock took the final step towards her so that their bodies were only inches apart, leaning his head down so that his mouth was close to her ear. He put his hands on her hips, and she felt her heart jump.

"You should be standing like this." Ramona's hips were shifted by his grip, and she felt her face heat ever so slightly at the contact, wondering if he knew what he was doing.

Sherlock's voice was basically a whisper at this point. "Now try."

Hands trembling ever so slightly she attempted playing for a second time, getting a much better result. Although obviously nowhere near Sherlock's level, it was adequate, and made a pleasant sound.

"Good." He murmured, and this time it sent a chill down her spine that she was unable to suppress. "Now try that again."

Ramona gave a small nod in response, and as she pulled the bow over the strings again, Sherlock's hands moved forwards so that they almost met at the middle of her torso, and then, traveled down to first button of her jeans. Her eyes almost bulged out of her head as he undid the first button and then the zip, pressing himself against her.

"Sherlock-" She gasped out, as his hands slid inside her underwear.

"Put down the violin." He growled.

She didn't need telling twice.

* * *

Ramona watched her hands in the living room mirror as they did her shirt buttons up, chest and stomach fluttering slightly with nerves of the thought of a new workplace.

"The address once more."

She sighed in exasperation, still looking in the mirror but now up at Sherlock, who was stood behind her, slightly to the left.

"I think I can remember the address of the office. I have The Floating Lantern's takeaway menu off by heart."

He smiled at her reflection in reply, causing her to uncharacteristically blush and look away back to her hands, that were now smoothing out her skirt.

"I'll walk you there."

"I'm getting the tube, but thanks."

Sherlock almost rolled his eyes in exasperation. "Tedious."

"Expensive." She corrects.

He opened his mouth to reply, but then snapped it shut, looking suitably defeated.

Ramona walks over to the door of the flat and he turns, following her. She turns round as she opens the door to leave.

"See you later, then." She smiled, leaning up to quickly kiss him goodbye.

Sherlock reciprocates, and as she breaks the kiss to leave. However, Ramona only has a moment of peace, before he leans back down, kissing her again with a different kind of intention. Shock fills her as he closes the door with one hand, and pushes her against the wall next to it.

She put her hand on his chest and gently pushed him away, and upon feeling the force Sherlock stops instantly, pulling back and straightening up, with a brow creased in confusion and annoyance.

"We're really going to have to work on that." Ramona checks her watch, as Sherlock's frown grows, feeling as if he was being put on the back-burner.

"Work on what? Am I... doing it wrong?"

She let out an involuntary snort of laughter. "No, no... you're doing it very right, that's the problem." He felt a surge of pride, and couldn't hide a smug smile. "You just can't seem to differentiate between full-on and a quick goodbye."

Sherlock wasn't about to admit that once he started he never wanted to stop. He never could.

"Ah... I see. But maybe if you-"

"I really have to go."

Something riled inside of his stomach. "You still have..." The detective checked his watch. "Ten minutes. In that time I could make you-"

"I want to get there early. I want to be early."

Sherlock let out a groan of annoyance. "Can't you just call in sick?"

"On the first day. Yeah, I'll call in sick." Ramona's voice was thick with sarcasm, and he pouted, putting on his puppy eyes.

"I'll be so _bored_."

She regarded him for a moment, and he swore he saw a falter in her stern expression, before snapping back to normal.

"No amount of puppy eyes is going to work on me, Sherlock."

"Do you have to get a job?" At this, Ramona wasn't sure whether to laugh or hit him.

"No, I'm going to sponge off you for the rest of my life instead."

Sherlock stared at her in an expecting fashion, blinking, as she rolled her eyes.

"Oh! You were being sarcastic."

Ramona turns around, straightening out her coat and steeling herself for the harsh winter grayness of reality outside of the warm safehouse that was 221B.

"No shit, Sherlock." She retorted.

She feels fingertips at her neck, gently sweeping away her hair. Sherlock softly presses his lips to her skin, causing electricity to shoot through her. Ramona turns to face him as pulls away, leaning in and up slightly onto her tiptoes.

"Try not to burn the flat down whilst I'm gone." She kisses him goodbye for the second time. The detective smiles lazily down at her, feeling a little dizzy.

"I'm not promising anything." He replies.

Ramona finds that she can't fight off the grin she was displaying, and without another word, turned, and walked down the stairs.

Sherlock watched her leave with the same blissfully content face, and found himself wanting to follow her. He ignored his frankly alarming obsessive streak, slowly turning back round and gently closing the door behind him.

He crossed the living room floor and positioned himself at the window, watching as she crossed the road and started walking to the left side, to the underground station. As his gaze followed her, Sherlock realised just how predictable he was becoming, as without a break in stride, Ramona raised a hand behind her, leaving just one middle finger up, pointing at the window.

The detective's mouth quirked into a smirk and he turned to face the flat.

Absentminded he raised his fingertips to his lips, still electric from her contact, elated state and grin growing as he reminisced disbelievingly on the last few moments.

And then, he frowned, throwing his hand away from his mouth in slight irritation, brow creased in frustration.

This wasn't like him at all. Since when did he smile to himself? And over romantic memories, no less?

He was being foolish. Leaving himself wide open for an attack. She was his ultimate weakness, his biggest blind spot. Sherlock was practically a sitting duck whilst they were off playing house, pretending to be relatively normal people. He knew that, of course he knew that.

He just didn't care.

* * *

Ramona's footsteps were quick and eager on the pavement as she made her way back home, hurrying a fraction faster with every racing thought, everything she wanted to tell him, and that joke she heard at lunch that would definitely make him laugh.

She turned the corner onto Baker Street, quietly humming to herself and pushing her hair out of her face.

And then, she froze.

Her heart dropped to her toes, mouth falling open in horror.

Huge clouds of billowing black smoke rose their way from the opened windows of 221B.

"_SHERLOCK!_" Her scream ripped through the hum of traffic, breaking into a sudden sprint, adrenaline hitting her bloodstream and fueling her faster.

She crosses the road, runs past Speedy's, not daring to let the racing thoughts -the mental image of a burned husk of a corpse vaguely resembling Sherlock lying on a metal slab- get to her.

Then, she heard a gunshot.

Ramona fumbles with her key in panic, however unlocks the black door and pushes it open, not stopping as she took the steep wooden steps two at a time, scrambling into the epicentre of the fire.

The scream of the fire alarm was barely noted by her as without a second thought she opened the unlocked door of the flat, to be greeted by choking ash, blinding her.

She stumbles through, not being able to see her hand in front of her face as she guided herself.

"SHERLOCK!"

Ramona shouts for him and then coughs, swatting at the smoke.

Then, she realised that there was no heat in the room.

There was no heat at all.

Just smoke.

And it was starting to clear.

Confusion is added into the mix of desperation and fear as she hears another gunshot, this time coming from the kitchen. She walks towards the noise and jumps back as another gunshot rings out right next to her.

The smoke is thin by now, and Ramona takes a step back in confusion.

Sherlock was stood with a tea-towel tied around his nose to cover the bottom half of his face, arm fully outstretched and pointing skywards.

He pulls the trigger again, and her hands go to her ears.

"WHAT ARE YOU DOING?!" She shouts, and he raises his head higher in acknowledgement, turning to look at her.

"Ah, Ramona." He checked his watch. "You're early." Without breaking eye contact, Sherlock fires the gun again.

She jumps and steps back yet again, although the sound is muffled with her palms pressed flatly and roughly against her ears.

"Won't stop." He tells her casually, shooting and gesturing with a jerk of his head to the fire alarm again. She frowns in confusion.

"But why's it...?"

"I attempted cooking. This is the result, it would seem." Sherlock uses his spare hand to untie the tea-towel from around his face and throws it to her, which she catches. "Put that on."

Instead of putting the tea-towel on, Ramona starts to laugh. Sherlock shakes his head in pretend annoyance and secret embarrassment, putting the final bullet into the fire alarm and silencing its screaming.

Its noise was replaced with Ramona's growing relief-riddled laughter and Sherlock's chuckling. She calms slowly as the smoke clears completely.

"Why were _you _cooking?"

Sherlock shoots her a look, raising an eyebrow and scanning her. "Why were _you _running?"

Ramona shrugs. "Exercise."

He turns away to look at the oven, mouth momentarily forming a smile. Ramona steps to the side to see the oven, completely black.

"And you can get _your_ exercise by cleaning that out." His eyes widen and he turns to her in outrage.

"It'll take me hours!"

"It's been a _long _day at the office Looks like I'm the breadwinner and you're the housewife now, Sherlock. Let's do our best to fill our roles." She smirks, unbuttoning her blazer.

Sherlock looked truly, deeply offended. "Housewife?!"

"You're my trophy wife. Arm candy. All you have to do is sit there and look pretty." Ramona teases. "After all, you're gonna be out of work for a while with that tell-all. Wearing the hat and that."

"I should punish you for that, Ramona." A dark smirk appears on his face.

"No, you_ should_ clean the oven." Ramona resists the urge to laugh at the awfully cheesy line.

"This is hardly-"

"Joking, Sherlock. I'll help you." She started walking towards the hallway.

"Excuse me for a moment, I'm struggling to contain my laughter." Sherlock turned to face the looming evil of the dirty oven, as Ramona reached the bedroom door.

"And I'll wear the hat whilst I do as well, if you want." His mouth parts as she laughs and he straightens up, turning and pacing down the hallway towards her.

Ramona giggles and disappears behind the doorway into the bedroom and Sherlock follows a bit too eagerly, if not a bit confused as to how burning the dinner could have earned him a happy Ramona.

* * *

"Let's just say she needs a little tender, loving care." The Eastern European, dirty blue overall clad mechanic tells Ramona, currently stood in a garage, her motorbike the centre of both of their attention.

She rolled her eyes, knowing just how mechanics loved to take advantage of women.

"Maybe I should book her in for an all-over chassis massage, then." She gives the mechanic a look as he turns to her, with a raised eyebrow and an amused expression. "Not all women think of their vehicles as teddy bears, so don't try to make me pay for what I don't need. The distribution bolt's developed an influx with the mainstay capacitor, I know what I'm talking about."

At this, the mechanic smiled. "You remind me of my sister."

"Why, does she feel like jumping off a roof every time her motorbike breaks down?"

"No, she's dead." Ramona's eyes widen in shock. "She was a political activist who opposed our brutal government. One day, she mysteriously went through the windscreen of her car." She briefly wondered why he was smiling.

"Fuck, I'm so sorry."

_Out of all the things I could have said, and I talk about jumping off a roof. Lovely._

The mechanic stood a whole foot taller than Ramona at six foot two, with messy dark blond hair and dark blue eyes, a straight and thin nose with a pale complexion and stylish stubble.

"Your face reminds me of hers." It would seem he was of a cheerful disposition and happy as default.

"Sorry, do you mean-?"

"Before the accident." They both laugh, and Ramona finds herself smiling at the surprisingly nice mechanic.

"I don't think I caught your name." She says.

"Maksim Ivashchenko." He outstretches his hand for her to shake, which she sees and takes with a smile.

* * *

Ramona makes her way to the kitchen and sets down a plastic shopping bag.

"Where've you been?"

Ramona freezes at the harsh, cold tone, and then turns to look at Sherlock, who had not turned away from the window, violin under his chin.

"The garage."

"Again?" Her confusion was mounting as she made conversation with the back of his head. "That's the fourth time this week."

"Well, someone's gotta make sure my bike's in proper working order."

"Why can't you do it?" His voice turns to a mutter as he turns around, setting his violin down on its stand and looking her in the eye as she walks towards him. "You're from the North."

"Some people find that kind of stereotyping quite offensive, y'know."

"Alright, steal one instead." There was no trace of humour in his tone, none at all, making anxiety and anger take hold of her.

"Ha ha Sherlock, very funny." She fixed him with a concerned expression. "What's wrong?"

He narrowed his eyes at her and then turned away, walking to the kitchen.

"Did you remember the milk?" Sherlock asks, beginning to rummage around in the shopping bag.

Ramona followed him, her chest now feeling tight with worry.

"Sherlock?" She asks,leaning back onto the kitchen counter and trying to look him in the face, although he wouldn't even glance her way. "What is it?"

Ramona felt him tense, before turning to her. She suddenly felt a little intimidated by the six foot detective looming over her with a burning expression.

"You're lying to me."

Her eyes widen in outrage. "What?"

"Tell me the real reason you've been visiting the garage. I gave you a chance to tell the truth."

"I'm sorry?!"

"Just admit it, Ramona." His anger was growing, and she still didn't know why.

"What have I done?"

"The mechanic, probably."

Her mouth dropped open. "You're fucking kidding me!"

"I can't believe you. After all the things you said, and you go and-"

"I can't believe _you_!" She cried. "You really think I'm shagging him?!"

Sherlock paused, voice dropping to a dark murmur. "That's the jist of it, yes."

Ramona huffed and then turned away, walking a few paces before spinning back around to face him, having to somehow calm herself.

"He's called Maksim." Her voice was quieter now.

"I know."

"Course you do." she shook her head, looking down for a moment. "The first time I went in, we got talking, and he started telling me stuff. His entire life story, basically."

"Ah, how lovely. And all for just one-hundred and forty-five pounds an hour plus VAT."

She rolled her eyes at his venomous tone. "He's not like that. He's a genuine, hard-working, honest guy."

Sherlock raised a skeptical eyebrow. "And he's definitely a mechanic?"

"Well, he is now. In his home country he was a playwright and an actor, but he's not been able to do that for a very long time."

"So why's he stopped the acting? Getting on a bit, is he, losing his looks?"

"No. He's only in his early thirties, and he's fairly attractive." Sherlock's face dropped to an emotionless mask. "The problem is, he's a political refugee." Her mind wandered to all the terrible things Maksim had told her about his life. "He's been arrested, imprisoned, tortured. Some of his close family have gone missing, or even worse."

Sherlock processed this information thoughtfully.

"How attractive?"

Ramona tensed her jaw in annoyance. "Almost as attractive as you, but obviously not as sensitive." He gives her a look in response. "He wants to stay here for good, but it looks like he's going to be deported."

"Ah." Sherlock turned back round, still not himself.

"Is that it?" He glances her way again. "'Ah'? A man's gonna get shipped back to face a lifetime of persecution, a man who lives and works just down the road. Doesn't that bother you in the slightest?"

Sherlock sighs lightly. "There's nothing I can do, Ramona. You, on the other hand, are a human rights lawyer. Surely even _you_ can get somewhere with that."

"Even I can, yes, that's why I've been going." She tutted. "Now would you stop being so stupid, please? And stop stalking me?"

"I don't stalk, I follow." He corrected, body language and voice still cold and closed off.

Ramona wasn't going to be swayed so easily. "If you're going to be so pissy for absolutely no reason, then I'm going to get a shower."

* * *

"Yeah, I've been trying to build a case for ages." Hannah listens as Ramona complains to her.

"But still nothing?"

"I've searched every single book and every single thing the government has on deportation, but I can't find one loophole." Ramona is sat at the living room table, scanning an open book.

"You've been up all night looking for something. Maybe you should turn away from that for a moment? Oh, let's go and check out that new cafe in Soho! The one that's a record shop as well!" Hannah leans down and smiles at her friend.

The lawyer sighs heavily, leaning back in her chair and looking up to the ceiling.

"I can't, Hannah. If I don't find something soon..."

"Well we can talk about something else for a bit." Hannah resolves, sitting down at the table with her. "Hey, why don't you tell me about when Paddy came to stay!"

"That? Oh, that was surprisingly nice, actually."

"So... is Sherlock... y'know..."

Ramona rolled her eyes. "Is Sherlock what?"

Hannah wiggled her eyebrows suggestively. "Your future baby daddy?"

At this, she freezes, before relaxing. "That's the thing, Hannah." Her cheerful friend's expression falters, beginning to look more serious. "I... might not be able to..."

"Oh, like your sister?"

"The odds of her being infertile and me being fertile is about a million to one."

"Well, there's still hope, then!" At this Ramona chuckles.

"Technically, I suppose."

"Listen, do you want kids?"

Ramona thinks about this for a moment. "I don't know, Hannah. I'm not exactly the most maternal, am I?"

"That's not an answer, is it?"

"Well you shouldn't have asked me, because it's probably impossible for me to even have kids, let alone raise them."

"There's always IVF."

"Rarely works, expensive."

"What about having a donor egg?"

"Maybe. I'll book a test, for curiosity's sake, if anything. Anyway, I'm not too fussed about children. Too many cases to solve, too many near-death traumatic experiences to be had."

"Wait 'til you hit thirty. Then you'll be clamoring for one."

"One children?" They both laugh, and Ramona gets back to her work. "Well, you know, there is one way to get around the deportation..."

Hannah perked up. "What is it?"

"Hm? Oh, doesn't matter."

* * *

Sherlock awoke slowly, and closed his eyes again, the frosty morning sun softly lighting the bedroom.

Yawning, he reached out across the bed for Ramona, feeling cold without her body heat next to him.

And then, his blue eyes snapped open.

Panic suddenly flooded him, realising she was nowhere to be seen. Sherlock shot up in bed, head spinning ever so slightly, ominous thoughts fueling his hazy movements as he desperately tried to figure out where she was.

"Ramona?" His voice came out deeper and huskier than usual, roughened by sleep.

Feeling like an idiot for asking the silence a question, he stood up, putting on his striped pyjama bottoms and grey t-shirt, and then wrapping himself in his blue dressing gown.

Opening the door, he peered around it and down the hallway, squinting ever so slightly, finding nothing but an empty flat, the only movement the meandering floating of minuscule bits of dust, highlighted by the light flooding in from the window.

"Mona?" He tried her real name, as if not responding to the one she preferred would have been an indication to do so.

Making a few more wary steps, he could no longer keep the creeping thoughts away, and his mind settled on the deduction that she had, in fact, left him.

And then, a party horn unraveled right in front of him at point blank, and gave a loud tooting noise that this early in the morning, had the potential to deafen him.

"HAPPY BIRTHDAY!" There was a chorus of familiar voices, and Sherlock was so stunned he felt his heart stop momentarily.

Ramona was grinning widely up at him, eyes sparkling mischievously, head tilted almost 90 degrees trying to make eye contact she was so close.

"...What?" He frowned in confusion and looked away from the small woman, to see a collection of people dotted around the living room.

There was John, Mary, Hannah, Mrs Hudson, Harry, Lestrade and Molly, all looked slightly sleepy themselves from the early hours, all wearing the same happy expression.

"Happy birthday." She repeated, and his gaze snapped back down to Ramona.

His eyes narrowed and as he leaned down to her, she blew the party horn again, the end of the gold foil unraveling quickly and tooting right in his face.

"Today's not my birthday." Sherlock said, although he was beginning to question this.

"Yeah, but your birthday this year was... from what I've heard, and no offence, but utter rubbish." A wave of embarrassment hit the detective. "So this is your party to make up for it."

He straightens out again, surveying everyone. Everyone beamed back at him, causing Sherlock to crack a smile.

"Graham, if you've gotten me socks again, there'll be hell to pay."

"It's Gr-" Lestrade began. "Oh, never mind." Sherlock smirked at the fact he knew exactly what Greg's name was, he just enjoyed winding him up.

"He'll learn one of these days, Greg." Ramona reassured the irritated detective, as he gave her an exasperated yet amused expression.

"And John, what've you got me?"

The good doctor looked to Sherlock with a slightly apologetic expression. "Er, books."

Sherlock gave him a look and then turned his gaze to Mary. "I thought a wife might have improved his gift-buying skills. Apparently not, it would seem."

Mary gave an conciliatory smile, as John appeared slightly ticked off, but not exactly surprised. "What else are you supposed to get geniuses?"

"And that's where I come in." Ramona declared, grinning as she handed him his present.

It had obviously been wrapped with care (Sherlock deduced this with utmost pleasure), and the wrapping paper was expensive, the pattern loosely resembling the wallpaper of 221B.

"Tea, anyone?" Mrs Hudson announced. This was met with a lot of 'oohs', 'yes pleases' and 'you wouldn't, would you?'. Attention was diverted from Sherlock to Mrs Hudson quickly, everyone breaking off into their own chatter, leaving Ramona and Sherlock to themselves.

"G'won, open it, Birthday Boy." She encouraged, as music from the speaker started up.

Sherlock looked down at the present in his hands, and for some reason, a sudden flood of emotion hit him. His eyes widened in shock as he felt them sting with tears, and dropping the present as his hands flew to his eyes to stop her from seeing them.

Ramona's quick reflexes were to thank as she caught the cube only inches from the ground in the palm of her hand crouched down.

"Jesus, you only have to say if you don't want it." She mumbled, face filling with a delicate pink at the embarrassment of rejection.

The surprisingly sensitive detective tried to shake off the feeling of his heart, full and heaving with emotion.

"No, it's not that." He took his hands away from his face. "Sorry. I-"

"I made you tear up? That's pretty bad. If you don't want it, I'll just take it back. I still have the receipt, anyway. Maybe you'll like the other one better." Ramona looked down, almost speaking to herself.

Sherlock held out his hands patiently for her to place the present in.

"I wasn't tearing up. I have allergies." He lied, halfheartedly.

"To feelings, yeah." She quips, a small smile appearing on her face. "Happy late thirty third, Sherlock." With this, she places the present back into his hands.

"Thank you, Love." He says. "And about that other present..." He eyed her, and she sighed in pretend annoyance, going over to the coffee table and quickly picking up a smaller package.

"It's not a lot." Ramona says, although she doesn't hand it to him. "I-its a bit silly, actually."

"I'll be the judge of that." He replies, going to take it, but she pulls it out of his reach.

"Actually... it's stupid. I'm stupid. This is, it's- you really don't want this."

Sherlock gives Ramona a look. "Are you going to make me say please for my own birthday present? That's just mean."

The fumbling woman sighs, putting it on top of the first present.

"Whatever. But you'll definitely cringe."

He smiled, liking that it was something cringe-worthy. Sherlock's voice dropped to a murmur as he leaned in closer, blue eyes sparkling with life as they looked into hers.

"Thank you for this."

"That's the second time you've said that." She mutters back.

"It's the second time I've wanted to say that."

At this, Ramona raises an eyebrow. "Ever?"

"Just about." They both chuckle, and Sherlock feels his heart practically sing.

* * *

"Now, I've invited you all here for a reason." Ramona tells the congregation, sat round a circular table in the restaurant, the same one that years ago, she had had her birthday meal.

The group consisted of her, Sherlock, John, Mary, Hannah, Mrs Hudson, Harry, Ellie, and Amber.

"And not just because I've come back from the grave." No one at the table could seem to stop smiling at this particular fact.

"There's actually something I wanted to tell you all, and I wanted to tell the closest people in my life first."

At this, Sherlock's smile grew to a grin, knowing exactly what she was going to tell them all. Them. He leaned back in his chair, fully relaxed.

"It's something pretty huge, so I hope everyone can... er, support me."

"Course we will, dear." Mrs Hudson interjects. "Now get on with it!"

"Right... okay." Ramona glanced at Sherlock.

Sherlock looked down at her, giving a small nod to encourage her. He went to put his arm around her, and she subtley shuffled away. Hurt hit Sherlock like a tonne of bricks, and he swallowed, looking down to his hands on the table, feeling taken down several notches or so, and extremely confused. Ramona turned back to everyone else.

"I'm getting married."

His heart skips a beat and he looks down at her with wide eyes, not quite believing what he had heard.

There was complete silence at the table.

Only Hannah knew about the advancements Sherlock and Ramona's relationship had made, and this left everyone else very confused.

"You're..." John leans in. "What?" he asks, fully perplexed. "To-to who?"

"A mechanic. Called Maksim." She smiled.

Sherlock's heart dropped and shock filled him.

"What?" He blurts out, a bit too fast and loud.

"He..." She doesn't look at him, only because she can't. "He's lovely. I'll introduce you all soon."

All eyes seemed not to be on her, however, but on Sherlock. They were all watching as his face heated slightly with pure anger, humiliation and confusion, desperately trying to keep it all inside, like he always did.

"But... we've never heard of him before, Ramona." Ellie begins.

"Yeah, well, we met last week, and we just sort of clicked, I guess."

"What's the rush?" Hannah's voice was intertwined with a shocked laugh.

"Er, almost dying sort of put things into perspective." She lies.

"Marry in haste and repent at leisure, that's what I always say." Mrs Hudson tells her.

"Yeah, except Maxim's not a drug dealer and I'm not a stripper, so..."

"Well, I say good on you!" Harry says, fully oblivious to how everyone was more concerned about Sherlock than Ramona and her future husband. "And the best of luck to the both of you!" He raises his wine glass.

"To the bride-to-be!" Amber cried, brimming with excitement already.

Sherlock raises his glass with the rest of them, and turns to her, face devoid of anything that could be described as emotion, his voice a mere dead tone.

"Cheers."

* * *

**And we're back to an actual story!**

**No more fluffy drabble I'm afraid :)**

**Thank you for reading, reviews are always loved and greatly appreciated! **


	65. I'm Not Sorry

**I'm Not Sorry - The Pigeon Detectives**

**I own nothing but the OC :)**

* * *

Ramona follows the silent Sherlock up the stairs, wondering how to best explain it to him.

_Maybe you should have told him prior to the public announcement, dickhead._

Her mind was racing with thoughts, and they all revolved around the detective currently making his way to 221B.

_No, better for the public. There are witnesses in public. Nice, safe, witnesses, that'll stand up in court if anyone decides to strangle me._

Entering the flat, Ramona stops in the middle of the living room, as he goes to his violin.

"Sherlock, listen-" At this his quiet facade seems to shatter, and he snaps round to look at her, features contorted into an ugly snarl.

"Don't you dare try to explain yourself." His voice was dark and shuddering, a rocket stuck on the launchpad, shaking and struggling with all the barely contained raw power, letting out fury that had been brewing for hours, but still trying to keep his facade tightly on.

"Just let me tell you why." Ramona replied, trying to stay calm, although her heart was starting to race at the thought of a confrontation.

"Oh, you want to tell me why, do you?" Sherlock gives her a look of complete betrayal. "Or are you just going to dump me, is that it?"

"What?" Her brow furrows in frustration. "That's not what I'm- it's obviously not what's-"

"Really? Because that's what I'm getting!" Sherlock ranted.

"Look, Sherlock, Maksim, He..." She sees his jaw tighten. "It's the only way he can stay in this country."

The detective pauses for a moment, glancing at her, the innate calm in his pale blue eyes starting to show again, starting to become Sherlock again.

"Elaborate." He orders.

"It's immigration." She explains. "They're going to deport him. It's the only way." His expression falters.

"No." Sherlock quickly dismisses it. "There has to be another way."

"Well there isn't!" Ramona snapped, starting to get frustrated. "Trust me, this is the last resort. So just stop being stupid, and-"

"I'm not." He interrupts.

"Sherlock, I'm not going to move out or anything, alright? It's _nothing _like that, nothing will change, I promise you. Listen to me." He slowly exhales. "It's just a piece of paper. But, it has to be a proper wedding; it has to be a secret that it's fake. If it gets out that it's not real, he'll get deported without question, and I'll go to jail."

"That's exactly my point. This is ridiculous, how you're putting your entire life on the line for a complete stranger. This is not your problem, Ramona. You are not responsible for what happens to other people." Sherlock desperately tried to drill this notion into her.

"I know it's not my responsibility, but this is something I have to do. He's an innocent man, for God's sake." She stresses, hoping that Sherlock would calm down. Why didn't he understand? And why was he even so annoyed?

"Why do you want to help him?" He looked incredulous and disbelieving. "What has he ever done for you?" She swallowed, and then looked into his eyes, trying to get through to him.

"I've done a lot of bad things, Sherlock. I want to... to amend for all the rubbish I've brought to the world so far. I'm a terrible person, and I need to-"

"You know that's not true." He interjects, fixing her with a stern expression and an authoritative tone.

"No, you're just in denial." She corrects. "I've _murdered _two people, Sherlock. You can't get much worse than that."

"Both of which deserved it." Sherlock tells her.

"No one deserves death." She states, fully believing what she was saying. "Even people like that." Ramona had changed her mind the second she had shot Magnussen to this, realising that a gun was too much power for any one person.

She used to agree with Mary, that people like that deserved to die. But, God, it didn't seem that was when you were the one pulling the trigger. However, there was still that niggling in the back of her mind, telling her that it was fine to kill, that she should do it again. And that terrified her, and so she tried to smother it.

"It's not my choice to decide whether someone lives or dies." She continues. "It shouldn't be anyone's decision."

"So if our roles were reversed, if _I _had shot Magnussen," Ramona flinches. "Would you be standing here telling me that I was terrible? That I was a murderer? What about Mary, do you feel that way about her?"

"No." Ramona replies instantly. "Obviously not. That's different."

"How?" Sherlock's eyes narrow. "How is it different in the slightest?" She pauses.

"That's just... I'm not sure you'd understand."

Sherlock takes another deep breath, realising he was going to have to be sneaky about it.

"Fine. Fine." He repeated, fully exasperated with both the situation and her exhausting frame of mind, that he found frankly ridiculous. "Do what you want. I won't interfere." Ramona let out a breath of relief.

"Thank you. I knew you wouldn't have a problem with this."

"I'm going out." Sherlock turns up his collar as he walks out, slamming none of the doors.

She stared after the door, half debating whether to go after him, before deciding to let him cool off on his own. It was clear that when Sherlock was angry, he was scary. Ramona didn't like that particular version of Sherlock, the one that snarled and bared his teeth, who let you know he could rip you to pieces if the whim so arose. Underneath the layers of human, perhaps he was just a viciously terrifying man, burying himself in any sort of distraction he could get at, any distraction that would delay self-destruction. Perhaps she was just another distraction.

* * *

Ciara stands in 221B, wearing blue jeans and a tucked in peach coloured blouse, expensive jewelry and watch adorning her thin wrists, dark hair glamoursly curled and reaching down to the bottom of her shoulder plates.

"Have you told Mum?" She asks her sister.

"It's got nothing to do with Mum. Or you." Ramona turns to Sherlock, eyes ablaze with anger. "Why did you tell them to come round, Sherlock?"

The detective shrugged. "I didn't. I simply told her how you were attempting to throw your future away. Ciara came down _completely_ of her own accord." He turned back to the newspaper he was reading, sat at the living room table.

"What happens when you meet the right person one day, and you wanna get married for real?"

"Yeah, the newspaper boy always smiles at you, why don't you marry him?" Sherlock adds.

"Oh, because my entire future is getting married? Settling down and being a brood mare? Yeah, no thanks, I'd rather eat my own arm than get tied down in some loveless, dull, going-through-the-motions commitment for the rest of my life!" Sherlock flinches and then tightens his jaw, but no one sees.

"Watch your mouth, Mona Doherty." Ciara started, basically growling at her identical twin.

"You don't tell me what to do, Ciara. I know this all sounds weird, but wait until you meet him and hear his stories. Look, as I've previously stated, I'm not interested in having a real relationship with him, I just want to help him. It's not going to be a real wedding, I don't actually care about it!"

"Don't care about it? Is that right?" Ciara shifts her weight onto one foot. "Then why did Sherlock find those wedding magazines?"

Ramona's mouth drops open and she looks to Sherlock, glaring and looking betrayed at the same time.

"Sherlock." She growled. He didn't acknowledge her.

"You can't just dress up and pretend you're a princess." Ciara continued. "I can't believe you're even considering this."

"He might be a criminal." Sherlock began, now ganging up on Ramona. "He's probably involved in the sex-slave industry. Mark my words, this time next year, you'll be dancing naked in a cage while hairy men thrust coins in your cleavage." He speculated, not bothering to look from the newspaper.

_What a lovely mental image! Thanks Sherlock!_

"Brilliant. Not even notes." Ramona quipped.

"I'm telling you, Mona, this whole marriage thing has got to stop right now." Ciara said.

"Is that right? Well this is my life, not yours."

"Oooh," Ciara nods, as if now having an epiphany. "So this is about you trying to get your own identity, is it?"

"Don't be _stupid_, Ciara. Not everything is about you, y'know. Not everything I do is about this inferiority complex you insist that I have."

"You do have an inferiority complex, though." The darker haired twin stated, folding her arms, letting her unflappable demeanor speak for itself.

"What? Me?" Ramona couldn't quite believe what she was hearing. "You're the one who should have one, _I'm_ the genius."

Ciara looked unimpressed to the extreme, her beautiful large brown eyes glancing over in the detective's direction.

"Sherlock, tell her."

"Yep." He popped the P as he confirmed, still not looking up from the paper.

"William Sherlock Scott Holmes, you-" Her scolding is promptly interrupted.

"You're not doing it, full stop. No if's, not but's, you are never getting married for the sake of some random bloke's green card!" Ciara told her, displaying her superiority time and time again.

Ramona felt her blood boil in her veins, and she had had enough of flirting around the edges of argument.

"I'm going to do it. For definite. No-one tells me what to do. You, _him _or any other bastard that wants to try it!"

Ciara stares her down furiously, and Ramona returns it equally as murderously. There was a moment where the fiery twins seemed to alight the room with their intensity, before Ciara turned quickly in defeat.

"This isn't the last you'll hear of this, Mona." She turns to leave.

The blonde twin knew that Ciara would be back, she was just unsure as to when.

* * *

Ramona sits in 221B curled up on the sofa, flipping through a wedding magazine and circling which flowers she liked, nursing a glass of red wine and a big bar of chocolate. Adulthood had gotten to her, and it was glorious.

The flames of the fire flickered and lit the living room, keeping it a polar opposite to the dreary grey pressed to the windows. Like this everything was peaceful, and she could imagine that maybe she led a likewise life, not one full of ridiculous and unnecessarily painful things.

Sherlock suddenly bursts inside, simultaneously bursting her bubble of calm solitude. She puts the magazine on the floor, face down, as he starts to sing, simultaneously walking through the flat.

"You say potato, he says, 'sfasmersniak'! You say tomato, he says, 'fenuffllite!' Potato, 'sfasmersniak'! Tomato, 'fenuffllite'! Let's call the whole thing a _SHAM_!" He cries, obviously very happy with himself.

"And how long did it take you to come up with that, exactly?" She retorts.

Before Sherlock could reply, however, Ciara and Ben appeared at the doorway. Ramona stood up, fully prepared for confrontation, slightly exasperated that she had been separated from an evening that had been otherwise relaxing

So you've spoken to Maksim, then?" She begins.

"Yep." The detective smirked as he listened to Ramona's sister, knowing that he had won without even having to go directly for anyone. "And I like him." Sherlock's mouth parted and he turned to Ramona's doppelganger, betrayed. "You have my blessing with the wedding." Ramona smiled. "He's such a nice bloke. I can't let a man like that be deported."

"His stories are heartbreaking." Benjamin added.

"Oh, for God's sake!" Sherlock cried in outrage.

"Alright Mr Pretend-Sociopath-And-The-City, you haven't heard about the family donkey catching syphilis." Ramona says, as Sherlock gives her a warning look.

Tensions in the flat had been running fairly high after the announcement, and the detective's attitude was the main cause. That was Ramona's opinion, anyway. Sherlock would tell the story with a very different narrative.

"Maksim asked Ben to be best man." Ciara continues, smiling.

"Best man?" His tone was incredulous to the extreme.

"I know, being told you're a man's quite nice, but the best one!" Ben said happily, a sort of happy that just felt obnoxious, if not a little rude. The detective was getting desperate now, turning back to Ramona.

"Have you any idea the trouble you'll be in if immigration find out?"

"Sherlock, what I'm doing is the right thing."

"Since when have you done the right thing?" He retorts, and Ramona blinks, realising that he's not exactly wrong.

What good had she ever actually done with the world? Was she even a good person at all? What made her part of the good guys? Bad people can still fall in love, after all; they are not exempt from human nature.

"And come on, who doesn't like a big white wedding?" Ciara enthused.

"I don't!" Sherlock replied quickly, wanting to shut down the whole idea right away.

"Oh, so your girlfriend's getting married. Big deal!" The darker haired twin says, and Sherlock doesn't even lend a glance her way, much to Ciara's frustration.

"Immigration come round, y'know." The detective starts ominously, trying to scare Ramona out of it. "Test you, make sure you really do know each other."

"Don't worry, I've done my homework." She smiled at him. "Go on, ask me anything."

"Alright... what's his date of birth?"

"Twenty-second of May, just outside the capital, at three-fifteen am." She replied, smiling smugly.

"God, he's a Gemini? I hate Geminis." Ciara remarks, and Ramona looks to her.

"You mean the zodiac sign of the twins? Yeah, very logical." Ramona says, causing her doppelganger to shoot her a look.

"Next!" Sherlock announces, Ramona diverting her attention back to him. "What's his father's Christian name?"

"Vladimir. Married Olga in July nineteen-seventy-one, maiden name, Ivorniski."

Sherlock's nose twitched ever so slightly in frustration.

"Next! How high can he jump?" He was going to have to go even more extreme with this, and now that her sister had failed him, he had to go straight to the mother.

* * *

Sherlock sat in the Ramona's mum's new house, bought on money Ramona had given in her deathwish. It was fairly large, and he sat on a buttoned leather armchair, holding a delicate and expensive looking teacup.

"Bejesus! My daughter marrying someone just to keep them in the country!"

He was also in the presence of Kathleen's new boyfriend called George, an equally elderly man that she had been friends with for a long time.

"I said that." He nods slowly and sympathetically.

"She's being a stupid idealist, she could end up in prison!" Sherlock nods along with the elderly woman.

"I said that as well."

"Where's the sanctity of marriage gone?" George asked.

"I said that too."

"That girl is not too old to go over my knee, you know."

"I-" Sherlock would have said that too, if he could have gotten away with it. "I feel... positively awful having to come round and tell you this, but I didn't know where else to turn."

"I can't believe Ciara's going along with this as well." The twins' mother shook her head.

"I told her to get Ben to punch his lights out." He almost laughed at the idea of Benjamin punching anyone at all, as he tried to keep his concerned and normal facade on.

"Do you know where to find this lad?" George inquired.

"No idea." He lied. If Ramona found out he had visited Maksim himself, he knew that it would certainly be over.

"Shame, he wouldn't be marrying her once I'd finished with him." George started. "He definitely wouldn't be able to consummate the marriage." Sherlock had hit his target, of course.

"Actually, I do remember _roughly_ where he works now."

"Where?"

"Flanders &amp; Son, Mechanical Traders Yard, 365 Elmsley Drive, E16 4LJ." He answered in a heartbeat. "Want the phone number?"

"Maybe Sherlock should come with us." Kathleen suggests.

"I can handle myself, thank you very much." George says.

"Far be it for me to interfere with George handling himself." Sherlock smirked, knowing that his plan was going to work, and Ramona would stay Doherty.

There was no way this wouldn't work. Sherlock suddenly felt at ease, knowing that once again he would get his own way, and everything would be back to normal. The only time Ramona would go wedding dress shopping was, well...

* * *

Standing in the wedding dress shop, that was all white and pretty and way, way too expensive, Ramona didn't feel like this was where she should be. None of this was her money, to make things even more uncomfortable.

"You look amazing, Mona." Ciara started, raising her phone and snapping a few pictures of her sister in the wedding dress.

"Really? I think it's a bit..." Mona's voice trailed off.

"I knew it was only a matter of time before some lucky man stole you away." Her mum nods proudly, linking arms with George.

"Well... Can I have something a bit less," _Uncomfortable? Something that allows me to fucking BREATH?! _"Maybe something more my style?"

"It's all worth it, trust me." Ciara replies.

_The last time I trusted you was 2001 December twenty second at three sixteen pm. Not making that decision again, thanks very much._

"Like a princess!" Paddy enthuses, and Ramona cant help but smile, as he scruffily eats a Freddo.

The dress was designer, a strapless ball gown with ribbon-embroidered bodice and a silk layered organza skirt that flowed out, accented by lace applique detail at hem.

Looking at herself in the full length mirror, Ramona felt like screaming. Which was definitely not a first.

Could she actually get married to him? No, she was thinking too much into it, of course she could. Sherlock was messing her mind up. Again, not a first. It really was only a-

"I thought I smelled Doherty." Sherlock's voice was sudden and it made her and Hannah jump, whereas everyone else turned, smiling and looking in his direction.

_Yes, that's normally how sniffer dogs track people, isn't it?_

"Ah, Sherlock, we're just helping Mona make some choices for the big day." Ciara says, a small charming smile playing on her mouth.

Ramona thought she saw something that appeared to be a mischievous secretive smirk flit across her sisters features, and that was the exact moment that the seed of suspicion was planted.

"What do you reckon?" Hannah asks him.

Sherlock scans Ramona quickly, and his disinterested expression doesn't change an inch. His eyes move to Ciara and linger a moment longer, and Ramona feels her heart sink.

"Very nice," He looks back from Ciara to their mum. "But isn't there one of those law things against sister and sister marriage?" He quips.

"I'm sorry, Sherlock, but Maksim's stories are heartbreaking." Kathleen replies.

"Oh," Sherlock nods knowingly, seemingly exasperated. "He got to you as well."

"He had to go down a tin mine at 11, Sherlock." Ramona states.

"So? I had a job when I was a kid." He doesn't look at her as he speaks, instead his eyes carefully study a glass of expensive champagne upon the rectangular glass table in between two couches.

"What did _you_ do?" She raised a brow.

"I worked at the library on Saturdays." He tells her.

"Oh, someone get me Amnesty International!" She exclaims sarcastically, rolling her eyes at him and looking away.

"Do you want a tiara or a veil? Or none? Maybe flowers?" Hannah asks, turning a minimalist tiara in her right hand in front of her. Sherlock shoots her an irritated look, and Hannah looks back to him, with an expression that differentiates between 'what is it?' and then 'oops, sorry!'

"Have you all gone completely insane?" He asks, incredulity filling his baritone.

"Sherlock, you should let us get on with it." Ramona says, sensing the growing tension in the room as the assistant puts a pin in her side, causing her to yelp quietly inside a closed mouth.

"There's a lot to do." Hannah adds apologetically, nodding.

"Fine," He turned back from the door, addressing the whole room. "But don't come crying to me when your daughter's a sex slave, forced into prostitution for old bits of scrap food. Afternoon."

"Oh, lovely, not even money now." She says, as the bell above the door rings.

That was it. There had to be somewhere that understood Sherlock's predicament, that would actually take his side. And then, he started walking to somewhere he knew his side would always be taken.

* * *

Sherlock sat in John and Mary's house, John studying his guarded friend carefully, or at least trying to, as he turns off the television.

"Everything okay, Sherlock?" He asked, concern evident in the good doctor's voice.

"What makes you ask?" Sherlock replies, leaning forward to take the mug of tea from the coffee table.

"Apart from your face-like-a-frying-pan? How about your quietness? Or maybe your body language?" Sherlock looked fairly shocked, giving him a wide-eyed glance. "I know you, Sherlock. I can tell when you're upset, even if I can't figure out why."

"Well, that makes one of you, at least." John frowned at the cryptic response, as Sherlock took a sip of tea. "It seems that I'm unsure of where to turn in this hour of need, John."

"Hour of need?" He repeats, still confused.

"It's Ramona." The detective states blankly.

"Ramona? What's wrong with her?" Concern started to stir even more violently within John. "Is she... is she ill?"

"No, not ill. Just stupid. Although, I suppose that_ is_ an illness, in a way." Sherlock speculates.

"Sorry... you came here to talk about how Ramona's stupid?" John's eyes narrow in confusion, causing him to sigh in annoyance and exasperation.

"I could go on for hours about that, but let's save it for another time. I'm talking about the... the..." Sherlock's voice trails off.

"The...?" He searches.

"The wedding, John, the wedding."

"How does the wedding make her stupid?" His expression of confusion turns to one of wide-eyed enlightenment. "Is it a shotgun wedding? Mary was saying that-"

"For God's sake!" Sherlock cries. "Of course it's not a shotgun wedding."

"Right, well, you're hardly giving me any _clues _here, are you?" A slight tone of frustration was interlaced into the good doctor's voice.

"It's a sham. The whole thing." John's eyes widen.

"A sham?"

"The man she's marrying, Maksim; he's going to be deported if he doesn't get married."

"Oh." John mutters, stunned.

"And Ramona, being the idiot she is, thought that it was her job to play wifey for him." Sherlock explains. There's a pause, as he waits for his response.

"Well... don't you think that what she's doing is, y'know, a good thing?" He retorts, unsure as to what Sherlock's problem was. "The-the right thing?"

"Oh, I should've known you'd take her side." The detective shakes his head. "Everything's always about the 'right thing' and the 'good thing'. What about the thing that I want?"

John's eyes grow to the size of moons, looking over to his friend in a completely shocked state. Everything is silent, and Sherlock rolls his eyes.

"What _you_ want?" Sherlock lets out a little sigh, slightly exasperated.

"I don't want her to get married, John. I'm not going to lie about it."

"Are-are you... Jesus, Sherlock, are you...?"

"John, surely you came to that conclusion a long time ago." He says, in a matter-of-fact fashion.

"If you're saying that you fancy Ramona, I have some information you might like as well." Sherlock raised a brow, looking over to him with curiosity.

"Oh?"

"Sherlock, she fancies you too." Sherlock's eyes and entire face brighten for a moment, before quietening down again.

"That's what I've been told." However, Sherlock had reason to believe differently.

"Wait, what?! Sherlock, just what the hell is going on between you two?!"

"Well, I reckon we're probably going out. I'm a bit fuzzy on the details, but I think we're-"

"GOING OUT?!" John jumps out of his seat, staring down at his friend with wide eyes and an open mouth.

"Yes, John, going out. As you have previously told me, it's what two people do when they like each other."

"Oh my- oh my God!" He cries. "This calls for- this- wait, I've got to ring Mary. She's gonna love this!" Sherlock rolls his eyes, a small smile on his features now, as John puts his phone up to his ear.

"John, I hardly think that-"

"Mary? Yes? Mary, you're not gonna believe this. You might want to sit down, in case you have a premature birth from shock. Okay, are you comfortable? Can you hear me? Is- Okay, sorry, I'll get to it. Sherlock and Ramona; it's finally happened." John holds the phone away from his ear as something resembling shouting can be heard from the other end, a grin now plastered across his face. He then looks to Sherlock. "She wants the details."

"She can't have them." He replies, with a smile.

"Alright, got to go," He nods. "Yes, I'll get them out of him, don't worry." John laughs. "Love you too. See you soon." He turns back to Sherlock. "Sorry about that. Okay, I can sort of see the problem now."

"Finally. To make matters worse, her whole family seem to be completely and utterly insane."

"Not surprising."

"No." He agrees. "Although, there is only two of them." A small pang of sadness hit him, thinking about her family, that were so small compared to his. "John, I need your help." Sherlock shoots him a look before he can say anything. "Talk her out of it. It's either you, or Mycroft. And you know how I feel about going to him for help."

"Alright, I'll try, mate, but I'm not promising anything." The good doctor confirms.

"Thank you." There's a pause.

"In return though, can I ask you something?" Sherlock raised a brow.

"Depends what it is."

"Have you and Ramona..." He raises his eyebrows to gesture, and Sherlock's brow creases in confusion, blinking at him.

"Sorry, what?"

"Y'know..." He gestures with his facial expression again.

"Are you having a stroke?" Sherlock asks, completely perplexed.

"Have you had..."

There's a pause, in which Sherlock gives him a completely exasperated look, sighing, putting his mug down and standing up.

"That's quite enough talking for today. Thank you for your help, John."

"Wait, you have to answer my question."

"No, I don't think I do." He couldn't seem to hide a smirk as he went into the hallway, followed by John, going over to his coat.

"Come on, Sherlock."

"As close as we are, John, I am not going to share details of my sex life with you. Afternoon."

John reads his expression, an undeniably smug one, and clocks it immediately.

"And that's the baby's uni fund sorted! Cheers Sherlock!" He cries, getting out his phone. Sherlock frowns in confusion as he rings someone else.

"Mycroft? Hello... yeah, it's John." The detective takes a step towards John in curiousity. "Well, it looks like I've won. Five years, wasn't it?" John starts to laugh. "I know, you might want to have the talk with him. Anyway, six grand, wasn't it? Yeah, a transfer'd be better than a cheque. Cheers."

Sherlock looks at John with a slack jaw, completely outraged.

"You can't bet on-on that!" The detective exclaims, and the good doctor shrugs, before nodding regarding Mycroft, and looking back to Sherlock.

"It's Mycroft, Sherlock. He wants a word." The detective's eyes widen, and he slowly backs away, to the door.

"I actually have to... be... somewhere..." He bluffed.

"Just a moment, Sherlock."

The detective opens the door behind him, as John continues to advance, holding the phone out towards him.

"No, I really have to... there are a few limbs that I need to pick up, and-"

"It'll only take a minute." He excuses, pushing the phone further towards Sherlock.

"Look, I-"

"Sherlock, pick up the phone this instant." He hears Mycroft's voice from the phone.

That was all it took for Sherlock to turn and start pacing out of the front garden, speeding up as John walks beside him.

"Get it away from me, John."

"It's just a quick phone call-"

"John, no!"

"Come on-"

And with that, Sherlock was suddenly running away from John down the street, and John barely keeps up, before halfway down the street giving up halfway, panting for breath.

"SIX POUNDS, JOHN!" He hears in the distance, from the escaping detective.

John knew for a fact that Ramona would almost definitely go through with this. If there was one thing he knew about her, it was that she never broke a promise; she was a woman of her word, and for that, the good doctor admired her. He also knew he could never get through to her, however, he wondered if anyone could. Perhaps there was one person in the world that she actually listened to, and they came in the form of a wild-haired, kindhearted woman.

* * *

Ramona sits in Hannah and Harry's house in Chelsea, a trendy townhouse in the money belt of London. It was four floors of class with a converted attic, a nice rectangular green backyard with a patio, complete with obligatory shed, barbecue and table and chairs set, with a completely glass back wall that on warm days could be pulled back to make the open plan kitchen and wooden patio become one. It was rarely pulled back. This was London, after all.

"I just don't understand what his problem is." Ramona starts, sitting on a kitchen stool in the modern, airy kitchen. She could hear the television playing Match Of The Day in the living room, and Harry laughing every so often.

Hannah gave her an apologetic look, as she got the cat food out. On doing this, a big fluffy tan coloured kitten named Jenkins came running, bell jingling on his collar as his little paws pattered on the wood floor.

"No offence, Ramona, but I definitely can." Hannah replies, leaning down to fill the small metallic bowl on the floor, decorated with blue pawprints. Ramona's eyes narrowed.

"Well I can't." She confirmed. "I mean, who wouldn't do what I'm doing in this situation? He's a good guy, you know that, you've met him."

"Well, I don't want to take sides..." Hannah's voice trailed off as she walked around the kitchen counter.

"Oh, yes you do. That's what people say when they want to take the other side." Ramona huffed, looking away in annoyance.

"Look, Ramona, can you really not see why he might be just a tiny bit miffed?" Hannah asks, running her fingers through her perpetually tangled hair.

"No, I really can't!" She cries, before letting out a groan of despair, letting her head fall so that her forehead comically hit the grey marble of the kitchen counter, closing her eyes. "This is absolute rubbish, Han. He's pissed at me for no reason!"

"Well, let's just think about how this might affect him."

"It won't affect him in the least. Nothing's gonna change." She vented out pent up frustration to her best friend.

"And here I was thinking _you_ were the logical one." Ramona sat back up with a forlorn expression."Right, so first of all, you want to pretend to other people that you're properly married. You realise what that means?"

"Yeah, it means that we'll have to do our taxes together." She quips.

"No, it means that you and Sherlock can never go public." Ramona's eyes widen in realisation. "Never."

"Hannah, please don't think for one second that Sherlock would ever want or need to go public. Do you really think he cares about what other people think?" Her tone was a bit condescending.

"What about when you have kids? Who's-"

"Hannah." Ramona warns. "That's probably not even a possibility."

"Okay, what about this? You can never get married to him." At this Ramona snorts in laughter.

"Have you met Sherlock? When has _he_ ever been remotely interested in anything loosely resembling A; commitment, B; religion, C; people? Since when have _I_?" She exclaims, now annoyed.

"I'm sorry, Ramona, but the way I see it you're being a self-centered idiot." Ramona's mouth falls open, staring at her with wide eyes.

"What?"

"You heard me. You're doing this without a second thought as to how he might feel about it. Did you even take him into consideration when you thought about it?" Hannah swallows.

"Oh, well this is just lovely." Ramona's tone was thick with sarcasm. "For some reason I'm getting nothing but grief for being a good person, just in case someone hurts Sherlock's non-existent feelings!" This was a lie, and Ramona knew full well that it was. But when she was angry, there was no controlling what came out of her mouth, even if it was all over-dramatic nonsense.

"That's harsh and you know it." Hannah calls her out on it, as per usual.

"It's really not!" Ramona stands up, lying yet again. "Do you really think his marital status matters more than a man's bloody life?!"

"How can you think he doesn't care about this?"

"He doesn't. Do you really think he actually loves me? Think about it for once, instead of having your head in the clouds at all times." Hannah pauses.

"...What?"

"Let's think of all the possible reasons he's faking this, and _then_ we'll talk. He needs his guard dog, Hannah, don't you know? Don't you realise how convenient I am for him? If he ever goes into danger, all he needs to do is string me along, and I'll happily jump in front of a bullet for him. And the sickest thing about it is that I'm fine with it!"

Hannah was shell-shocked, staring at her best friend with utter disbelief.

"Ramona, there's no way you actually..." She swallows. "Please don't think that."

"It's obvious!" Ramona cries, tears starting to pool in her eyes. "Look, Hannah... Sherlock doesn't fall in love with people. First and foremost he's a consulting detective. Nothing more, nothing less. He pushes everything else aside so that he can focus on his job. The game is all he cares about. Have you still not figured that out?"

She knew that this was all lies, she knew that Sherlock wasn't some puzzle-orientated machine, although he thrived on the thrill of it all. No, he wasn't mechanical, he was soft and human and possessed something so emotive inside of him that he could have elected to be a musician, a poet or an artist, if he had wanted. However, he had wanted to be a detective, and this was how it had ended up.

"Ramona, I'll admit that I don't know as much as you, but I know that he loves you." Hannah replies, desperately trying to reach her and pull her friend out of whatever abyss she had fallen into.

Her heart aches at this, knowing it can never be true. Knowing that she had fallen in love with perhaps one of the only people who could never love her back. Everything was manipulation with him, the only time he regarded true emotion was to scorn it.

"Just shut up, Hannah." Ramona shakes her head, trying to shake away the thoughts at the same time. If she could just stay inside her comfort zone with Sherlock, if she could buy his lies, she thought she could be happy. Ignorance truly could be bliss, if she tried hard enough. "You and your optimism just make it worse."

"Then what about the way he reacted when he thought you died? How do you explain that?"

"That's just loneliness. It doesn't mean the same thing." Ramona looked away, feeling idiotic. Hannah takes a step towards her.

"Ramona, I'll stick up for you with anything, I'll defend you no matter what, you know that. But I won't lie to you. I'll never lie to you, not again." Her voice was so erudite it made Ramona feel sick, how someone could be so truthful and never once deceitful after a life of nothing but lies.

"Well I want you to stop prying." Ramona states, trying to put her emotions back in their boxes, trying to put her heart, that controlled her every action these days, back in its cage.

"Prying?! You're the one who brought it up in the first place!" She retorts, anger now showing, a rare occasion for Hannah.

Ramona briefly thought about taking a picture.

"Well I'm sorry, alright? I'm sorry. Let's just... not talk about him. I don't want to talk about Sherlock anymore." Hannah pursed her lips in response, obviously trying to get a read of Ramona, something that could prove impossible.

"Fine. And I'm sorry, too, Ramona. I really am." Hannah gave her a small smile.

"Thank you. I don't think I could do this without you." She states, and is suddenly trapped in one of Hannah's trademark bear hugs, lungs being crushed by the larger girl.

Ramona starts to laugh as she pulls back.

"And, also, Hannah... will you be my head bridesmaid for my sham wedding?"

"I wouldn't have your sham wedding any other way." They both laugh, and the tension is already gone.

* * *

**So, not a lot happened in this chapter, but I'm sort of gearing up, so don't worry, I have quite a bit planned out ;) **

**And to the anon reviewer- Do you mean symbols as in ~~~ or as in actual symbols in the writing? And thank you for reviewing!**

**Thanks for reading in this slight lull of the story, and 100 digital hugs if you decide to review!**


	66. What Are You So Scared Of?

**What Are You So Scared Of? - Tonight Alive**

**I own nothing but my OC!**

* * *

"Ramona?" John called out to the flat, which at first seemed empty.

He then hears running from down the hallway, and then Ramona appeared in the living room, pulling a brush through her damp, still slightly knotted hair.

"Oh, hello John!" She exclaimed, eyes lighting up on seeing him. John smiles in response. "You'll have to excuse- er- _this_." Ramona gestured to her whole post-shower look, which consisted of a face sans makeup, grey sweatpants and a Batman T-shirt of hers that she had come across thrown in the bottom of Sherlock's wardrobe.

This was a result of half a decade of the laundry getting mixed up (as a lot of Ramona's clothes could be regarded as unisex), and half a decade of Sherlock being too lazy to walk six feet and give her clothes back to her. This also brought about a lot of accusations of clothes theft and unsolved mysteries of missing tops.

"Okay." She nodded, looking around. "Want me to put the kettle on? Toast or biscuits? It's a bit early. Oh, Sherlock's just gone to Tesco, if you're looking for him. He'll only be about..." She checks her watch. "Fifteen minutes?"

"I'm fine, thanks. Trying to watch my weight, actually." He admits, with a small chuckle. Ramona grins.

"I should start with that, actually. I've put on five pounds since I came home. Too much food to eat and not enough crimes to solve, you know the score." She states, making a face.

"Oh, I'm sure you can get away with it." Ramona laughed as he smiled cheekily. "And, I'm not looking for Sherlock. I was actually looking... for you." He tells her, and she looks a little surprised for a second, before nodding, taking this into account.

"Alright," She scanned his micro-expressions. "Am I in trouble?" She asked, causing John to look amused.

"No, don't worry, nothing like that. I've just come to talk to you about-"

"About the wedding." Ramona interrupts, and John gives her a look.

"You knew why I was here from the start, didn't you?"

"Course." Ramona winks. "But beating around the bush passes the time. Also, I enjoy seeing you fumble over your words." She states. "I'm guessing that Sherlock asked you to have a word with me?" Ramona asked, finishing with the hairbrush and setting it down on the desk, walking over to him and sitting on the missing detective's chair.

"Yeah- but don't tell him I told you."

"It's pretty obvious. But, anyway, let's begin the lecture."

"Right, well," John stares at her, wondering what to say, being a bit off-put by her confidence. "Basically, I don't think you should go through with it."

"Really?! I thought you'd come here to give me your blessings." Ramona states sarcastically, and John can't help but smile.

"I think that you should... think about..."

"Lecturing is hard, isn't it?"

"Yes." He admits, and the two laugh.

"Think of it as Dad practice." Ramona suggests.

"You're not my kid, though."

"Okay, I'll lecture myself." She grinned at him. "Or, I could just tell Sherlock that you told me off?"

"No, that feels like lying to him."

"Yeah, because it is." She quips, and he stifles a laugh, giving her a warning look. "You're right." She allows. "I suppose you should just go ahead and roast me, then." Ramona purses her lips, waiting for the inevitable onslaught. She didn't want to have to argue with someone who didn't want to argue wih John, nonetheless a John that didn't want to argue in the first place.

"I still don't feel comfortable telling you what to do." He sighs.

"Well... pretend you're Sherlock, then."

"What?" John looks surprised for a moment.

"He's got no problem with bossing me around in the slightest. I think he secretly enjoys it, actually." Ramona speculates. "But anyway, just pretend you're The Great Detective, and it should come naturally." John laughs, and then, clears his throat.

"Alright. Well," He gets into character. "Ramona, I don't want you to get married."

"Why ever not, Sherlock?" She gives a mock expression, and they both struggle not to laugh.

"Well, as you can see, I'm very superior to you and you should take my word as gospel because I'm Sherlock Holmes and I have an international reputation."

"Yes, I can see that now, it's all so clear." She nods. "And obviously you still think Queen Victoria's alive, and so you think you can tell me what to do?"

"Something along those lines, yes." John had the posture down, and Ramona almost found it eerie that they could both do uncannily brilliant impressions of Sherlock.

"Well, seeing as you've asked so nicely, Sherlock, king of Smartarseland and The United Kingdom of Deduction, I'll stop with this silly marriage thing immediately, and just become your foot slave for the rest of my life."

"Ah, just excellent, thank you, Ramona, my one and only Queen of The United States of Sarcasm and the Isle of Leather Jackets," He steeples his hands under his chin in true Sherlock-style, and Ramona has to purse her lips not to giggle. "Now, is there any chance you could pop out for some nicotine patches before I implode and sexually assault you?"

"Of course!" She exclaims enthusiastically. "Do you also want me to get your self-heating rollers and cheekbone polish whilst I'm at it?"

"That would be simply terrific. Now if you'll excuse me, I need to go to my mind palace and pretend that I'm cool."

At this the two burst into uncontrollable laughter, Ramona throwing her head back and letting out some much needed hearty guffawing, John not being able to feel his lungs.

_Ah, nothing brings people together like some good taking the piss out of a mutual friend._

Ramona opens her eyes, bringing her gaze back to John, and then out of the corner of her eye, spots something.

"Sherlock." She both greets and states, fighting down the grin trying to tug up the corners of her mouth.

"Nice to know how you speak of me when I'm not around." The detective states, although his tone was amused, walking over to the kitchen and setting the shopping bags down on the table.

Ramona gets up and goes over to him, smiling up at him. Sherlock's mouth seems to involuntarily smile back, and he leans down to speak to her.

"Great overlord of Smartarseland and United Kingdom of Deduction, was it?" He murmurs with a grin, one that was infectious. Ramona shrugs in response.

"Self-heating rollers and cheekbone polish." She adds, causing him to snort in laughter.

"I don't think I've ever even seen self-heating rollers." He states. At this she raises her hands and idly runs her fingers through his hair, making a faint contented buzzing sound inside his mind appear, picking out one lock and playing with it.

"Yeah, but you should. Actually, I might ask to borrow Ciara's." He flinches ever-so-slightly at her sister's name. "I could put them in and everything. Oh, that'd make for a good night in. A good girls' night in. We could talk about boys and watch Clueless." Ramona states, and he chuckles. "Actually, your hair's so soft, I wonder if it'd even stay in curlers properly." His face flushes adorably at this.

"Are we really talking logistics on putting my hair in curlers?" Ramona giggles as he leans in again with a grin on his face.

John then clears his throat, understandably uncomfortable, but an amused expression across his features.

Ramona turns around to John, equally embarrassed and apologetic, as Sherlock straightens up, still grinning ear to ear from the exchange.

"Oh, Ramona, I forgot to tell you; John and Mycroft placed bets on us." Her mouth parts in shock, looking from Sherlock back to the accused.

"John!" She cries.

What?!" He pauses, looking as outraged as the girl. "It was easy money."

"Still... it's unethical gambling." She replied.

"Anyway, Sherlock, I was just saying why Ramona shouldn't get married."

"And you were also saying that I told you to do so?"

"Hey, no! She guessed! I can't help it if she guessed." Ramona nods as John pointed it out, and at this Sherlock sighs.

"Fine." He allows.

"Now that I'm here, though..." John's eyes drift to Ramona. "Mary actually wanted me to ask-"

"No!" Sherlock exclaims cheerfully.

**###########################################**

Walking down the street with Maksim was strange, but then again it was strangely comfortable. Knowing exactly where you stood with someone, being fully informed, it was a polar opposite of what she was used to, with just about everybody else. Even Sherlock, the person that she had spent most of her time either thinking or being with, was still always a slight mystery to her, a never-ending cycle of questions, one that eventually would\ always bring you back to square one.

"So that leaves... two seats in the church, right?" Ramona asked, adding up the amount of wedding guests with the amount of seats left in the chapel.

"I still can't thank you enough for this, Ramona." He was a gentle giant, and it made her smile, as they walked to the immigration office.

"It's no problem, Maksim, really." She replies, as they stop at the bottom of the few steps outside. "They say they'll need to come around to your home three weeks after the wedding to interview us." Ramona tells him.

"Maybe they'll realise it's all a lie." He speculated with a frightened tone. She looked from the building to him with a reassuring smile.

"Oh, everything'll be fine. Don't worry about it, I can remember everything. One of the perks of being a genius."

"And what are the downfalls of being a genius, exactly?" Maksim asks, and they laugh.

"You've got a point." She allows.

"And your boyfriend, he... doesn't have a problem?" Ramona frowns in confusion.

"Boyfriend?" She takes a second, and then it hits her. "Oh!" Maksim looks slightly concerned. "Sorry, sometimes I sort of forget. We've been close for years, you see, but nothing's really happened until recently." _Understatement of the millennium._ "I don't even know if we're... attached, that way. I think so. Maybe?" She shrugged, along with shrugging the thoughts of Sherlock off. Now was not the time to be thinking about him. "Anyway, you really shouldn't make yourself anxious. No worries."

"You're right," He lets out a breath. "Everything will be fine." At this she grins, and looks back to the building, to see something that made her heart drop.

Sherlock was walking to the offices, hands in his coat pockets, looking innocent, but at the same time, very, very guilty. Her mouth parted in shock and disgust, completely revolted that he would go to such lengths. Was he really going to tell on them? Go to the authorities and grass them up just so he could have his way?

"You know, I have never actually been to an English wedding before." Maksim continues. "Tell me, what is it like?"

"I'm going to be wearing your bollocks as earrings!" She growls, eyes not ripping from Sherlock.

"Wait, what?!" He cries.

**###########################################**

"Yes, we'd want the honeymoon suite, plus another room next door." Ramona sighed silently as the woman on the other end asked why they would be needing two rooms. "I don't know, in case things don't work out."

"Yeah, it's under the names of Maksim Ivashchenko and Mona Doherty." The woman asks her to spell out the second name.

"Mhm, it's D-O-H-E- Oh, I see. I-V-A..." Ramona paused, eyes widening in realisation. "I haven't got a clue. I'll check and ring you back. Bye."

"Oh, so honeymoon now, is it?" Ramona jumped at the sudden voice, not knowing that Sherlock had been stood at the doorway for a good minute, just watching her. He refused to look at her as he walked inside, taking off his gloves.

"Well, us being married has got to look even more real now." She states. "Something tells me I'm going to get a visit from Immigration sooner than I thought." There was just a hint of anger in her voice, but it was definitely there.

"I'm sorry?" He frowns.

"Doesn't matter." She says, deciding that she definitely didn't want yet another argument about it. Sherlock raises his eyebrows but then turns away.

"So, are you going to take his name?" Sherlock asks, going to the table and taking off his coat.

"No." She replies, much to Sherlock's approval. "I have to draw the line somewhere, Sherlock."

_And not being able to spell my own last name is definitely way over the line._

"Good."

And then, Ramona had a thought. Maybe if instead of arguing, she could draw a confession out of him instead, it would give them absolutely no reason whatsoever for any sort of confrontation, and neither of them would have to shout.

"Sherlock, I just wanted to say," He turns to her as she smiles up at him. "Thank you for being alright with this."

"I'm not alright with this." Sherlock replies flatly.

"Yeah, but, you're not forcing my hand or anything, are you? You're letting me do what I want." At this he narrowed his eyes.

"What are you trying to get at, Ramona?"

"Nothing, nothing at all. Why, got anything to tell me?" Ramona thanked the stars for her superior acting skills.

"...No." He gave her a suspicious look. "You're being too nice. What do you want?"

"What do you mean?" She gave him her best innocent look. "I don't want anything."

"Hmm." Sherlock eyed her again, before deciding to put it on the back-burner. Ramona watched him carefully. "Well-

"Don't play dumb with me, Sherlock. That's the one thing you're rubbish at."

_Well, that and Rubik's Cubes, but we'll save that for a later date._

"I'm not following." He tells her.

"Look, Sherlock, I realise that you've got a problem with this... but can't you just keep your nose out of it?"

"What?"

"So, come on, I want it all out in the open. Because frankly I don't see any logic in your motivation to be so annoyed about it." At this he took a moment, looking at her incredulously.

"Are... are you serious?"

"No, I'm joking, this is just one whole prank. In a minute or so a camera crew and obnoxious presenter are gonna jump out at us."

"Why do you always have to be so difficult?!" He cries, finally snapping.

"Difficult? Me?" She retorts. "You're the one who throws a hissy-fit if he doesn't get his way all the time, like a spoiled little brat!" Sherlock's mouth parts in shock.

"Spoiled little brat?!" He repeats, incredulously.

"Yeah, Sherlock, that's what you are." She lied, fueled by blind rage and a powerful amount of exasperation with his antics. "You've been mothered your entire life by everyone you've ever known and now you don't know how to be a grownup!"

"Ramona!" He shouts in outrage, hurt quickly boiling his blood.

"I'm fed up with your possessiveness, Sherlock, I've had enough. I'm my own person, and if you can't learn to be just a bit like a normal human being, and learn that you can't tell me what to do, then I don't think-"

"Don't." He growled, warning.

"And there you go again!" She raised a hand to gesture to him, heartbeat in her ears. "Ordering me around!"

"It's for your own good, Ramona! _You're_ the one that acts as if they don't care about anything in the entire world, off in your own little dream world, you always leave me to try and take care of you! And you call _me_ the child!"

"I never asked you to 'take care' of me, Sherlock, you did that of your own accord!" Ramona pointed out.

"And when I do save you from danger, you get angry!" He continues.

"Because I don't need you to save me!" She insisted, although she knew that in some ways this was not strictly true. "Get that into your head, would you?!"

"Well I have a pretty tough time believing _that_ when I spend about fifty percent of my life doing it!" Sherlock retorted venomously.

"Sherlock, this marriage is going ahead, and there's nothing you can do about it." Ramona summarizes, trying to keep quell the flowing anger swarming around them. "So stop being so childish and _grow up!_"

Why does it have to be you?! Why can't one of your friends do it?!" At this she pauses for a moment, trying to calm down.

"All my friends already have someone, Sherlock."

At this, he freezes.

Her eyes widen, realising how it sounded. Ramona watched him with her heart in her throat, waiting for his response, as he stood as still as a statue unwavering in harsh winds, staring down at her with so much intensity she feared she was going to get incinerated by his eyes alone.

"So you don't have anyone?" Sherlock's voice was steady and seething, by no means reassuring.

It sounded like the pressure of the ocean creaking in on a submarine door, one that had gone too deep to ever hope to see the light again. Sinking for good.

Ramona looked away, feeling idiotic.

"No one at all? No one..." His eyes narrowed. "Springs to mind?"

"You know I didn't mean it like that." She was quiet but determined, although perplexed as to why he was so angry.

"Did I? And how exactly am I supposed to know that?" He swallowed, shaking his head. "Maybe you're just using this as an excuse to let me down gently." Ramona closed her eyes in annoyance. "Changed your mind, have you?"

"Right, that's it!" She shouts. "I've had it with you pretending! I can't- I can't-"

"Pretending?" He repeats, confused.

"Pretending to- to-" Ramona looks him in the eye, her expression turning desperate for a moment. "Pretending to have feelings for me, Sherlock."

Sherlock's eyes widen as he stares her down, mouth parting in disbelief.

"Why would I pretend?" She laughs shortly at this, absolutely no humour in her tone.

"I don't even know where to start!" Ramona exclaims. "Firstly, you know how I feel about you. You know, and you decided to take advantage of it- of me." She rants, not regarding his expression as she looked around. "I'm nothing but your guard dog at the end of the day, Sherlock, one that conveniently changes into a lap dog when you want it to. I'm just your human shield." Her chest was starting to ache again. "When you figured out what Mycroft had done, you were probably thankful. And then, when I came back to life, you were even more thankful, because it meant that your bodyguard was back. But this time, I wasn't in any sort of contract or deal, I wasn't obliged to stay with you by any means. In fact, I was going to leave you for good."

"Ramona-" His voice came out choked and heavy and disbelieving, but she didn't let him speak.

"So you found a way to make me stay. All you had to do was do what you've done a thousand times before; manipulate a woman's feelings. And that's what you did. You got at my weakspot, that was, conveniently, you, and then you exploited it, so that you'd never be in danger again. Someone that'd take more than one bullet for you, and all you had to do was pretend to love me. And I went through with it, as well, went along with the little charade because I couldn't bring myself to face the reality that it was impossible that it might ever be requited."

There was dead silence as she finished, and even if she finished trembling and threatening to break down, she would get it all out, like a bad sickness that ust needed to be sat through.

"I've seen you manipulate people more times than I care to count, Sherlock. But I never thought it'd be me on the recieving end." Sherlock shakes his head, closing his eyes. "But what I don't understand is why you care so much about the fake marriage. Maybe you don't like others trying to take me away, when you need your guardian."

There was a long pause, and she finally brought her gaze back up to Sherlock, and a pang ran through her upon seeing him.

Sherlock's eyes were filled with angry, despair-ridden tears, and he wore a dead expression while staring right through her.

"Get out." He told her, voice wavering ever-so-slightly. And all of a sudden, all traces anger is drained from her, blood turning to simmer and then to a halted stop.

"Sherlock-"

"Get. Out." He repeated, bearing and gritting his teeth as he said it. "If that's really what you think, then leave."

He raised a hand, pointing at the door and glaring out of horrified, tear-filled blue eyes.

She looked from his outstretched hand to the door, and then back to him.

"...Fine." She said.

And with that, Ramona turned and left.

**###########################################**

Ramona rang the doorbell once, and that was all she needed before she could see a vague outline in the stained glass of the door, along with the sound of slipper clad feet on the wood of the hallway.

Hannah opened the front door, took one look at Ramona, who looked on the verge of tears, and her mouth fell open.

"Jesus, Ramona, what happened?"

"I didn't know where else to go." Ramona tells her best friend, voice strangled by the huge lump in her throat, wiping her eyes in the dark with the sleeves of her jumper, feeling a fool.

"Oh, come here." Hannah says, outstretching her arms. She quickly closed the space and then Ramona gets crushed in something that was now comforting. "You know you're always welcome here, Ramona."

At this, Ramona can't fight off the tears and a heartfelt sob escapes her, shuddering in Hannah's arms.

"I'm such an idiot." Was all she could get out, and Ramona didn't know who she was talking to. "I'm sorry." And at that moment, she felt pathetic and used, the punchline in some inside joke she was never apart of, and never would be.

"What have I told you about apologising for crying?" Hannah scolded, a mother disguised as a friend.

_"Never say sorry for crying again, Ramona. Not to anyone."_

Remembering that morning, the one where she had truly become undone in his arms, fuels her sadness, feeling nothing but a low, throbbing and physically painful stabbing sensation in her chest, and then she felt it all over her, creeping into her very veins and infecting her lungs, making every breath that fraction harder to take.

All she was was sadness, because she knew it was over.

* * *

**Hate me yet? No? Then I'm not trying hard enough :)**

**I know you might find this annoying, but I wanted to make this as realistic as possible. I realise that Ramona has been particularly frustrating these last few chapters, completely blind and obnoxious, but again, if she was perfect then it would make for a very boring character and a very boring story, so just bear with. And this is a bit of a short chapter, I know.**

**Thanks for reading! Even more love sent your way if you review :)**


	67. Ship To Wreck

**Ship To Wreck - Florence + The Machine**

**I own nothing but the OC :)**

* * *

Nothing hits home as hard as absence of a loved one.

It could be a parent away on a business trip, a pet staying at the vets, a friend at work.

But for Ramona, it was the absence of the warmth in the bed and the organised chaos of black curls that left her feeling empty.

Everything felt surreal, as if yesterday couldn't really have happened, as if it had all just been one huge nightmare and that in the morning everything could revert to how it had been, her life would have gone back to factory settings. But, of course, it didn't.

The first thing collected thing she did was turn onto her side and reach out for her phone on the bedside table. She sits up as she brings it in front of her, only to find that her rising hopes were quickly slapped down. There was no text from Sherlock, nothing from him at all. Then again, what had she expected?

Ramona sighed and got out of bed, assessing both the guest bedroom she had spent the night in, and her dire situation, that she had spent most of her life in.

She couldn't go back now and apologize, could she? How was anything like that ever going to just blow over? And it didn't look like they could ever go back to being friends, not like before, anyway. How were you supposed to pretend to be friends with someone who you've slept with- and intensely- multiple times?

Her head started to ache as it raced, and so she pushed it to the back of her mind, and instead of dwelling went to the bathroom to get a shower.

Ramona walked into the kitchen, eyes staring straight ahead, basically still asleep.

"You look like death." Hannah stated, turning from the fridge to quickly scan her friend.

"Good morning to you too, Hannah." Ramona answered, voice sarcastic but croaky and cracking at its first use of the day.

"So..." Hannah started, as Ramona sat down in a stool,pulling a newspaper across the white marble and reading the headline. "Anything from Sherlock?"

"Nothing." Hannah paused, not knowing what to say.

"Oh."

"Have you got any cocoa pops? I'd really like warm cocoa pops right now." Ramona tries to divert the conversation, play it off as if she didn't care. But God, she cared, and way too much.

"Er- no, sorry." a tone that was apologetic, and for some reason it made Ramona want to burst into tears. It was always like that when she was deeply upset, when something had happened- every little thing that went wrong, from a stubbed toe to a missed train made her want to break down and give up.

"It's fine." She was lying, of course. "I've got work in a bit anyway." And then Ramona was back to herself, brushing everything off, building that ridiculously tall wall around herself that even Hannah struggled to climb over. "See you later."

And with that, Ramona got up and left. Hannah would be lying if she said that she didn't watch her leave with a concerned expression and a heavy heart.

**###########################################**

The skies were overcast as Ramona reached the underground station ten minutes and twenty three seconds early.

Walking to the stairs and praying that it wouldn't rain, clutching her coat a fraction tighter to her shivering body in the bitter cold, she stopped, and found that instead of a bustling steady stream of commuters, a herd of disgruntled, complaining and generally very English commuters all reading a sign put up on the green shutters that prevented anyone from entering, which stated;

**Due to the transport worker strike, underground services will not be running today. We apologise for any inconvenience caused. **

She gritted her teeth and didn't let the riling anger in her empty stomach get to her, instead turning and recalculating her route, now thankful that she had set off early.

Getting to a road that could lead her to work with ample time to spare and feeling quite proud of herself, her eyes widened in complete disbelief to find that the road that stood between her and her office was in fact cordoned off with yellow signs and flashing lights, along with men in yellow hats.

**Road Closed**

This time she balled her fists, taking in a deep breath, willing her fraying nerves and anger reaching its boiling point to simmer and stop.

Ramona turned, regarded the swollen clouds overhead, and then went inside an off license, quickly buying a pack of cigarettes. She hadn't felt the need for one since she had arrived back, but now the craving had returned and hit harder than anything. The craving was different to hunger or thirst, that she could tolerate. It was every inch of her screaming for nicotine and something to relax her that made her breath in poison, and she knew that full well.

Re-emerging from the off licence, she stands on the almost empty street, stopping for a moment and putting one of the newly purchased cigarettes between her lips, and then bringing up that same silver lighter to light it. It caught alight instantly, and she could already feel her despair subsiding.

And then, it started to rain.

The sudden downpour instantly put out her cigarette, and in a fit of concealed rage she grabbed it and threw the now sogging wet thing onto the ground near her shoes.

It was quite possible that this had been one of the worst mornings of her life.

She persevered, however, through the battling urges of wanting to cry and scream at the same time, and kept walking, recalculating her route once again. Ramona figured that she would now be late, but at least she had an excuse- or several.

The rain was getting worse, the large droplets hitting harder and faster by the minute, and her coat (that lacked a hood), was now starting to stick to her, shoes letting in the water and drenching her feet, hair clinging to her face.

_Of course I didn't bring an umbrella. Of course I didn't think to check the weather. Or if the underground was running. Or which streets were having work done. Idiot, idiot, idiot!_

And now, of course, she couldn't buy an umbrella. She had spent the only cash she had had on her on cigarettes. Ones that she couldn't use.

Ramona now felt like the poster child in an anti-smoking ad.

And now she was going to be late to work. Most probably, she was going to get that taken out of her wage.

_Because why not? Let's just all pile on Ramona, hmm? Which element to the shittest day ever can make her have a nervous breakdown first? Anyone want to place any bets? What about the being late to a relatively new job? Or maybe being caught out in torrential rain? What about 'breaking up' with possibly the only person that could ever stomach her? WHY DON'T WE ALL JUST GANG UP ON RAMONA?! LET'S ALL JUST- _

Lost in her self-pitying internal monologue, she suddenly snapped out of it when she collided head first with something resembling a brick wall.

The first thing she noticed as she stepped back was the smell of expensive aftershave and the lack of rain. Her thoughts turn hopeful for a moment, before her vision focuses on a tie with small umbrellas upon it.

She frowned and looked up, straight into Mycroft's extremely unimpressed face, cigarette held in between the index and middle finger of his right hand, giving out an alluring scent, whilst he fixed her with a withering stare. The drenched girl observed how he always looked so pristine, so unflappable, so utterly untouchable and unphased despite anything and everything that came his way. She secretly admired him for this.

_"For the record, Mycroft... For the record, I'm in love with your little brother."_

Ramona blinked once, embarrassment hitting her, before swallowing.

"Sorry. 'Scuse me." She muttered, before stepping to the side, away from him, away from the exciting world that he lived in.

Away from anything vaguely Holmes shaped.

At this point, two large men came round the corner of the street she was heading up, taking up the entire pavement. They were armed and certainly meant business. Her eyes widened, and she quickly pivoted around in the rain, only to find that there were two coming up the other end of the street. Presumably, they meant an equal amount of business.

Mycroft had turned to watch her, and had managed to tell her exactly what was going to happen without having to utter a word, without having to even change his expression. The amount of power he held scared her.

Then, she realised where she was. Looking to the left of Mycroft, she found The Diogenes Club.

_Jesus, has he orchestrated this whole thing? The underground strike? The road closure? The rain- yes, because now Mycroft can control the weather. Meh, I wouldn't be too surprised._

She threw him back as equally a disinterested look as she could muster. Because truly, she felt panicked at the thought of a one-on-one conversation with Mycroft. After all that had happened, what was he going to do?

The penny dropped with a sickening thud.

He wanted to put her in jail.

Looking around, heart now thrumming wildly against her chest, she saw no means of escape. Parked were blacked-out vehicles all along the street, trapping her on the walkway, and on the pavement were four solid, armed men, surrounding her now. She might be reckless, but she knows that she's beaten.

_That clever bastard, he just couldn't let one tiny murder slide, could he?_

"Please do relax, Miss Doherty." Mycroft begins, and her eyes dart back to him. He could smell fear, she was certain. "I shan't keep you long."

And with that he turned, taking the three steps up to The Diogenes Club in his stride, not having to beckon her further for her to follow.

**###########################################**

The last time she had been here had been the worst day of her life.

There was no doubt of that in her mind, it was a resolute fact that the day she had been told that her entire life had been nothing more than a cheap imitation was a pivotal one.

Sitting here, in the chair opposite Mycroft as he sat at his desk, made her feel small, as it always did. How could it not? There he was, all-powerful and all-knowing, and there she was, knowing little and fearing the worst.

She waited for him to say something, to make the first move. Ramona was on her guard, as was to be expected, but she could only guess as to what he would come out with.

"The smoking ban is not enforced in The Diogenes Club. Feel free to light up." Mycroft told her, short and sweet, and telling her to smoke. It was getting off to a good start, at least.

She took the box from her bag, paused, and then looked up to him, silently offering him one. Mycroft gave the subtlest of head-shakes. She returned this with a small shrug, before repeating the process that she had carried out in the street, however this time, her efforts were not in vain. She took a lungful of the stuff, and it was a small but welcome shock to the system, having not smoked in at least a month. Ramona moved slower than usual, not wanting to give away her nervousness. Then again, perhaps that was a tell in itself.

"You could just text me, you know." Were her first words, casual as she leaned back and crossed her slender legs, trying to regain control that she never had in the first place.

Ramona knew very well she was playing a losing game, however, as ultimately, Mycroft was The Diogenes Club personified, trying to get her own in a place like this was like trying to get blood to flow into the left ventricle of the heart and out the right atrium; it was simply never going to happen, it never had and it never would, because it wasn't natural.

"Like normal people." She added, letting out the smoke, watching briefly as it curled above in the air and then disappeared. Still lingering, but now invisible.

"You and I are anything but normal people, Ramona. Surely you've worked that one out for yourself by now?" He returned, and to this she could only give a short sigh, and another pull of the cigarette.

The truth was was that Ramona wished she could be normal. Deep down she really wouldn't mind if all of this would just stop, and she could go to her job every day without being interrupted by the most powerful man in the country, she could gossip at the water cooler and never once see a gun in person again, because that was what was normal. She could have a normal, boring love life, with boring, normal men who were shit in the sack, she could have dinner parties with normal, boring people, and everything would be fine.

But nothing would be good. The highlights of her life would be juicy gossip, sterile conversation and soap dramas every Friday. Nothing would be interesting. Nothing would actually matter. She thrived on adrenaline, excitement, the out of the ordinary. As much as she liked to deny it, no, Mona Doherty was not normal. And it would be insulting to think that she ever could be. A taste of the underworld, the shadows and wolves of London, and she got hooked.

Perhaps that was what kept her coming back for more, kept her clamoring for it- for him.

"Unfortunately, Mycroft. But a girl can dream, can't she?" Was the only reply she gave, despite the thought trail. There were a number of things she might be here for. Each option made her stomach twist in anxiety.

"Let's get down to business, shall we?" Mycroft proposes, leaning forward, resting his chin on two clamped together hands, resting his elbows on the desk below. And with that, Ramona knew the short foreplay was over.

"If you insist." She wasn't in the mood for this, but it looked like it was going to happen whether she liked it or not.

"Ramona, I have a document for you to sign." She raises an eyebrow and leans forward herself to see two A4 sheets of pristine white paper, each with a dotted line at the bottom. "Or more specifically, I have multiple."

"Brilliant." She remarks sarcastically. "Because when has Mycroft and a contract ever been a bad idea?" Her snark was shining through now, as she regarded the papers with utter disdain.

"I suggest you read them both." His tone was totally unaffected by hers. "_Carefully._" Mycroft stresses.

Looking up at him from the papers, she blows out smoke again, letting the grey become a momentary barrier in between the two. In this moment he can only make out her blue eyes, studying him and his intentions with a sort of annoyed indifference that intrigued The British Government.

"Fine." With this she set the burning cigarette into the expensive ashtray on the desk, picking up the two papers, putting one behind the other. Mycroft watches her carefully, watches her eyes steadily move left to right, and then quickly flick back to the left as she started a new line.

As she read, her heart simultaneously sunk.

There was no way he could be serious about this. About any of this. Just who did he think he was?

Without a word or even a minuscule change in micro-expression she looks to the other paper, letting the print sink in, letting it ruin her.

Finishing, she put them back on the desk, took her cigarette back in between the index and middle finger of her left hand, reasserted herself into the back of the seat, and rested her left elbow on the arm of the chair.

He waited for a response as she took a drag of tobacco and nicotine, letting it rest satisfyingly in her lungs before releasing the smoke once again.

"Absolutely not." Her words came out exactly how she wanted them to; not giving anything away, but telling him all he need to know at the same time.

"I'm afraid you do not have a choice in the matter, Ramona." His words seemed all of a sudden tired, as if he was being forced to do this. If only that was the case.

"I'm afraid you don't have any hold on me anymore, _Mycroft._" She spat his name out like a bad taste in her mouth, and he didn't blame her.

For him, it was tiring. Having to play the villain, having to play Sherlock's janitor, his protector, his last line of defence. He could understand her anger. In Ramona he had taken a selfish, almost perverse sense of security. Mycroft had always seen how wrong his actions were, how utterly despicable. And yet, he just couldn't help himself. Anything for his little brother. Anything to keep him safe. He loved him, of course he did. Just anything to make sure he didn't turn out like the other one.

"I might not." He admits. "But , contrary to what you believe to be the case, the law does."

"You aren't the law." Ramona disregards him, looking away with a slight expression of disdain.

"Yes I am." Mycroft replied, swiftly and sure in his words. And he had every right to be, because he was right.

There was a long minute-and-a-half pause, in which Ramona brought her gaze to lock directly with his. In that moment it was just the two of them on the entire earth, fixed fire, waiting for the other to retreat first.

Surprisingly, it ended being Ramona that was the first to scuttle from the stare.

"What is it, then?" She asked, eyes roaming back to the papers. "One or the other?"

"You catch on quickly." A solemn sentence that still manged to sound slightly mocking.

"You know, I really can't believe you have the nerve to do this." Ramona states simply.

"Oh?"

"Even for you, this is pretty fucking low." Ramona's voice was mixed in with a disbelieving laugh, and as much as she fought it, her eyes started to fill ever so slightly.

Her words and expression hit surprisingly hard, and for a moment he felt something stir inside him. He recognized the sensation as guilt and shame.

"It's the only way, Ramona." Mycroft tries to excuse himself.

"No it's not." She shakes her head. "You know full well that it's not."

"If yesterdays occurrence proved anything, Dear, it is that you and Sherlock are simply not meant to be in a relationship."

Suddenly her misty eyes were filled with a sapphire fire of rage, glaring at him, hair starting to dry fully now.

"Jesus, Mycroft." She starts. "It's none of your business. It really doesn't concern you at all, actually!"

"When it comes to my brother, it _is_ my business." At this she rolled her eyes, shaking her head.

"So if we have a fight, then suddenly- what- _this_?!" She gestured to the room, the theatrics, to him.

"It was more than a fight, wouldn't you agree?"

"I do not exist for the sole purpose of your little brother." Her voice was strong as her will, but she could feel the lump in her throat that would start to make her tone waver any time soon. "I do not exist for you to use me and tell me what to do. I am my own person and I refuse to sign any document you give me."

"Ramona, what I am giving you is mercy." He reasons.

"What you are _giving_ me is two life sentences!"

At this he sighed, looking resigned and leaning back into his chair, massaging his temples with one hand and closing his eyes briefly. Ramona watches this carefully.

"Choose one. And do it quickly." He orders.

"No."

He seems to snap all of a sudden, eyes now completely open and staring at her angrily, mouth contorted into a sort of snarl that wasn't really there in spirit, which she returned wholeheartedly.

"It's either this, or prison. Choose wisely."

And with this, she knew that she had to choose.

It was a simple 50/50, 1 or 2, A or B, and yet she was now stunted as to what to do. Which one to pick.

"I'll need... time."

"You can't have it." Her eyes closed in exasperation, before opening again and shooting him a look. "I'm sorry, Ramona, but this is the only way."

Magnussen. She hated Magnussen so much. It was the type of hate that you felt in your veins and your bones, the type of hate that infected your lungs and made you feed it with every breath you took, the type that made you shake with anger, that pushed you to tears in pure desperation. It was something she had never felt before, and she wasn't sure she ever would again. This was all his fault. If only he hadn't come after Sherlock, if only he hadn't come after Mycroft, then it could all be safe and as close to normal as it ever got for her. But he just had to force her hand, didn't he?

"Mycroft..." _Please. _But she didn't have what it took to beg. Not to him. Not now.

"You have my apologies. But it was the best I could do." At this feeble excuse, she shook her head.

"No, you just want me out of your hair."

"Ramona, I-"

"I've served my purpose, and now I'm going to get thrown on the rubbish heap, just like all your other broken toys." His stare gave nothing away. "I won't do this. I won't."

"I regret to inform you that you have no other choice."

"There's always another choice."

"Not this time, Ramona."

She was silent again.

"I told you. I warned you." He continued. "I made it very clear that I could not protect you from the consequences of your actions. You killed him knowing exactly what you were getting yourself into."

"And I don't regret it."

"You have ten minutes, Ramona."

He didn't say another word after that. Just watched as she picked up the papers, and read both again.

The first option was devastating, cruel, and yet it was what she had planned only a week or so prior.

Ramona would simply leave the country to a destination of her choosing, under a witness protection program. She would disappear and would never be found again. Anywhere she desired, it said.

Looking up to the calculating man, her eyes gave nothing away.

"If I pick option one, what will you tell Sherlock?" Mycroft hides a smirk at this.

"I'll tell him whatever you want me to tell him."

"Anything but the truth, then." He almost laughed.

"Something like that, yes."

That was something else Mycroft admired about her. Despite all the secrets she liked to keep tucked away, her past that she liked to keep in the shadows, Ramona was always straight to the point. Never flirting around a point she wanted to make. She said what she liked, and she liked what she said. It was probably a northern thing.

Considering the second option, Ramona wasn't sure which was worse.

The first was a good kick up the arse, whereas the second, that was pure torture.

In a roundabout way, the second was that she continued in her vocation as Sherlock's guardian. There was no punishment for the murder, her figurative slate would be wiped figuratively clean.

Except for one catch.

She was never allowed to pursue a relationship that could be considered romantic or sexual with him.

It shouldn't have hurt as much as it did, but still, it was a below-the-belt hit that left her almost breathless at the thought of it, the thought of having to subject herself to it. Again. Ramona had done it before, yes, and she had been vaguely alright. But that had been before all the sex. And the saying that they loved each other, regardless of his deception. It could be just a tad more tricky, this time around, now that all her cards were lying defenselessly on the table.

"I've got a question about the second." Mycroft raised a brow.

"Yes?"

"Why?"

"Sherlock needs someone that he does not form too severe a bond with." His cynicism, yet again. "He needs you to be hands-on only at life-or-death situations, Ramona. He does not require... other services, from you."

At this, a blush crept up her skin, reaching her face. Ramona was now embarrassed of being embarrassed. Brilliant.

"I have told you many times before. _Caring is not an advantage_."

Mycroft's words drilled into her, and she believed them. Of course she did. She knew full well that what he was saying was true.

"When you died, Sherlock was a mess." Her eyes widen and she looks up to him in surprise. "I have never seen him that bad. And I never want to, ever again. That is why you will remain impartial in that... area."

"So that when the time comes for me to really die for him..." Ramona caught on sickeningly fast.

"He won't be so affected. Yes, that's the general gist of it."

She paused, debating which one to choose. One was leaving everything and everyone she loved, the other was a short lifetime of heartache and longing.

_Oh, I'm spoilt for choice!_

"This is cruel, Mycroft."

"The world is cruel, my Dear." Her blue eyes sadden.

"What about Sherlock? What about what he wants? Does he come into this at all?"

"What Sherlock wants and what he needs are two very different things, Miss Doherty."

"You really don't have a problem lying to him at all." She states, and for a second she seems far away.

"Considering your history, it seems that neither do you." There it was, out in the open. Mycroft let it sit for a while in the smoke-saturated air, hanging over her like an axe about to swing.

"What if he doesn't want to see me again, Mycroft? What happens if he flat out refuses to ever be in my company?"

"I somehow doubt that will be a problem."

She bites her lip, feeling the same perpetual anxiety releasing itself into her bloodstream, like it always did when keeping something from Sherlock was involved.

"I don't want to lie to him. Please, don't make me deceive him."

"I'm not making you do anything. It is either that, or zero contact with your old life for the rest of your days."

There's a long pause.

"And this stays between me and you, does it?"

"You're a natural at this secrecy business."

Ramona felt sick to her stomach. Yet again, lying to Sherlock. Leaving him, or being destroyed by him. It wasn't his fault, anything rarely was. At that moment she felt a huge stab of guilt, and suddenly her nose was on fire, there was a huge lump in her throat, vision almost completely clouded. How could she do this to him? To the man that she loved? Leave him, lie to him, betray him, the list went on, and on, and on...

She was an awful person, there was no doubt about that. But, for all her faults, flaws and shortcomings, she was an awful person in love.

"The... the second." Ramona choked out, composing herself silently, bringing herself to a completely false serenity.

A sad yet knowing expression crept onto Mycroft's face, as if he had known from the outset that that was the one she would choose. He probably had.

Mycroft took away the first document, opening a draw in his desk, and placing it inside, to be promptly forgotten about.

His hand was outstretched, lightly holding an expensive fountain pen out in front of her.

"For what it's worth, Ramona," She took the pen from his hand. "I'm sorry."

**###########################################**

"So, what, do you think that you've broken up?" Hannah asked, wine glass in hand.

It was just the two of them, Ramona and her, in Hannah's living room, watching rubbish telly and laughing at the awful soap drama acting.

"I don't know." She answered, with a sigh. "I don't know what was going on in the first place."

"You need to sort it out, then."

"I miss him!" Ramona groaned in despair. "But I hate him for lying to me." Hannah gave her a look. "Alright, I don't, I like him. A lot. And that's exactly the problem."

"Maybe you need to... to text him, or something?" At this, Ramona's eyes widen in outrage and disbelief.

"Text him?! Are you completely insane?!" Hannah raised her eyebrows.

"Alright, touchy. I only suggested."

There was silence for a moment, before Ramona gave a theatrical sigh.

"It was so good. Why did I ruin it? Even if he was lying to me, I could have gone along with it for longer." She was almost talking to herself.

"You're both such drama queens. Get over yourselves!"

"I am not a drama queen! He is."

"Don't even try to deny it, Ramona." There's another pause.

"You know, I know so much about him that I could completely _ruin _him." Hannah looked at her pointedly. "But I won't, 'cos I'm nice."

"What was it like, then?" Hannah asks. Ramona gives her a confused look.

"What was what like?"

"Being with him. A relationship with a sociopath."

"He's not a sociopath. He wishes he was, though." A ghost of a smile.

"You sure about that? He's, like, completely terrifying." At this, Ramona snorted with laughter.

"Yeah, that's what he wants you to think. It's- er- it's like that song, by Marina And The Diamonds. He tries to pretend to be a robot, but on the inside, he's just a little baby." Ramona starts to giggle. "Really, he's nothing to be afraid of. Apart from the manipulative, obsessive and possessive streak. That's a bit worrying."

"Seriously, though."

"Fine. He was... it was... brilliant."

"That's weird."

"It's not, when you think about it."

"And how was he, you know, in the sack?"

"Hannah!" She cried, outraged and embarrassed.

"What?! Come on, you'd be curious."

"God, you're so nosy."

"Oh my God, was he bad?" Hannah snorts in laughter. "That has to be embarrassing."

"Jesus! Shut up!" Ramona hits her leg lightly. "For your information, he was not bad, alright?"

"Ooh, give me all the details!"

"You sound like a middle aged woman at a PTA meeting." Ramona remarked, causing Hannah to giggle.

"You owe me this, Ramona, come on." At this, she sighs, closing her eyes briefly, as memories started to flood her mind, looking away. Absentmindedly, she goes slack-jawed and her eyes seemed far away, completely submerged.

"Think about violinists, Hannah. Think about what they can do with their hands." Hannah was fully amused with her. "It was the best. He was the best."

"Well, you've shocked me."

"He shocked me. I was expecting some awkward fumblings of a first-timer. Although, it was a bit fumbly at the start, because of all the... urgency..."

"Alright, Ramona, that's enough."

"It was just completely explosive. Like nothing I've ever experienced. Almost a spiritual sort of thing, you know? So in sync, as well. And he was so-"

"Ramona, stop! You're grossing me out!" Ramona snapped out of it, face reddening, looking to Hannah, who looked disgusted.

"Y-you're the one that asked for details!"

"Not like that!"

Ramona was silent for a moment, and they shared a look, before bursting into laughter.

After the giggling subsided, Ramona stood up.

"Right, well, I'm off for a good cold shower."

"Oh, Ramona," Hannah started. "Just to remind you, your doctor's appointment is next week." She thinks about this for a moment.

"Cheers. See you in the morning."

**###########################################**

Her phone was what awoke her in the early hours of a Saturday.

Confused and slightly shocked, she outstretched a hand, grabbing her phone roughly, answering the call and pressing it to her ear, eyes still closed.

"Hello?"

"Ramona. It's Lestrade." The same exasperated tone that never failed to excite her. "I need you and Sherlock up at Primrose Hill." At the name, her heart sank.

"You'll have to contact Sherlock yourself." There was a pause.

"Okay." Lestrade was never one to pry. For that, she was thankful. "Be here in the next half hour, yeah?"

"No problem. What's happened?" There was a short exhale on the other end as she stood up quickly.

"Something... something inhuman."

* * *

**This does have drama in its description, to be honest. **

**And ya, I know there was no actual Shezza in this chapter. But the upcoming stuff should make up for it.**

**Thanks so much for reading, even more thanks for reviews :)**


	68. Little Illusion Machine

**Little Illusion Machine - The Death Ramps**

**I own nothing but the OC :)**

* * *

The gates to the enclosed community on the highest point of London were tall, black, electrically controlled, and decorative.

They were wide open to make room for all the police vehicles on the wide road, and still were, as Ramona slowed down her motorbike as she passed through them.

Observing everything from inside a helmet and it's blacked out screen, that she wore almost like armour, everything seemed very distant.

This quickly changed, however, as she slowed to a complete stop, leaning to the side and kicking the stand down, before dismounting, and pulling her helmet off.

A few police officers stopped for a moment to study her as she lifted the seat of the black motorcycle, placing her helmet inside, and closing it again, shoving her keys inside her leather jacket pocket, but keeping on her biking gloves.

The sun was arriving only now, and they were probably the first to see it in London, being so far up, where the pollution lay below Primrose Hill, leaving them with the fresh, clean air.

It reminded her of Mount Olympus, the mountain in Greece, that in Greek mythology was home to the twelve Olympians and the nine muses. Towering above the humanity of London, somewhere she was certain Zeus would be more than happy to throw his lightning bolts from.

As she approaches the crime scene confidently, Sally Donovan spots her, and goes to lift the tape.

Ramona ducks down mid step and doesn't break her pace as she enters, everything becoming a bit more vibrant every inch she closed towards the mystery, towards the danger and the excitement.

"Doherty's here, boss." Sally says into her walky-talky, before turning to Ramona, who was awaiting instruction.

"These houses all lock-up-and-leaves?" Ramona asks.

A lock-up-and-leave was a term newly founded in the growing upper class of England. The rich would buy a huge house in London, and simply leave them. As the house prices in London were growing more astronomical each day, leaving the rest of the country -and especially the North- behind, it seemed that they could gain value by simply sitting there, and people who had the means to do so could make profit of simply buying a house and then leaving it be for a year or so, and then selling it. And that's exactly what they did.

This was the furthest north of the green money belt surrounding London, somewhere all the rich seemed to scamper towards, surrounding the city in wealth.

London holds the record for the most billionaires than any other city in the world, but it certainly didn't make any English person proud. It just made them bitter that it wasn't them with the designer clothes, the fast cars, and the mansions on Primrose Hill in the gated community.

"All of them are, apart from two." Sally replied, as Ramona ran her fingers through her hair, feathering it out and getting rid of the helmet-hair.

Her mind wandered briefly, specifically to the detective, the late one. Was he alright? What if something had happened? Was he not coming because she was here? If so, that was childish, and it made her feel positively awful. No, he wouldn't do that.

Looking around, there were eight ridiculously huge houses in the complex. All basically identical, apart from the customization of two that sat on opposite sides of the road.

The house that was surrounded by flashing lights had a new driveway that had to have been laid only three months ago, Ramona noted, as she walked up it.

Getting to the open front door, with stained glass surrounding it, Lestrade appeared, expression grim, looking truly done.

_Nothing unusual there, then._

"It's a family." He states simply, tone flat and monotone.

Ramona takes a moment to register this, before blinking once, trying to keep her vivid imagination at bay.

"Jesus," Was all she could seem to say.

Glancing away for a moment, Ramona saw that at the fence, behind the house that was the crime scene, there seemed to be a forest, trees that were as big as they were old created a canopy of leaf-less branches. And then, she realised what she was looking at.

Highgate cemetery.

Highgate cemetery was, without a doubt, the creepiest place in London. And that was saying something. A graveyard long since overtaken by nature, where branches curled around gravestones, threatening to pull them into the earth beneath.

However, this was the West Cemetery, not the East. In the East anyone could roam freely, it was host to a few notable corpses. In the West, it was a different story- entry was by guided tour only, and if you were caught inside un-permitted, you faced a large fine.

"Finally decided to show up, did you?" Lestrade asks to approaching footsteps, and Ramona snaps out of the submersion of her own mind.

She turns round to see who he was talking to, and then snaps back to Lestrade, eyes wide and heart racing in her chest all of a sudden, palms starting to sweat ever so slightly despite the bracing cold.

Sherlock.

"That's the- er- Highgate Cemetery, isn't it?" Ramona asks Lestrade, who nods.

"Yeah."

"Where Karl Marx is, right?" Sally now.

"Nah," Ramona tells her. "Marx is in the East. That's the west. Closed to the public. Only open it up for the odd guided tour and funeral."

Lestrade turned and walked inside, the other three following the unusually silent detective inspector.

Ramona could feel Sherlock's presence behind her but didn't dare to acknowledge it. This was most likely a very childish action on her part, however, she didn't know how to act around him. She'd figure it out, in time. She knew that, it was just the initial stage of awkwardness Ramona needed to get past. That, and the anger she was still holding towards him.

"People are still getting buried there?" Sally continued.

"Mm." She nodded in response. "That's the way I'd come, if I was trying to break in. It's the way I'd go, too, I bet it'd be nice to get buried there."

"The guard called it in." Lestrade announced, turning around. "Guy was doing his rounds when he saw the front door was open and came inside." She can practically feel Sherlock's jaw tense at this.

"And compromised the crime scene. Brilliant." Sherlock's baritone was practically venomous, and it shocked everyone apart from Ramona, who knew who it was really directed at. Her.

"The family of the only other lived-in house on this street are on holiday, as well, so they didn't see anything." Lestrade says.

Inside, the stink of petrol was overwhelming.

The house was modern, and open plan. The glass behind of the house gave a full view to the Japanese styled garden, which was undoubtedly beautiful, and one of the contrasting darkness of the graveyard beyond. Lovely.

And that was when Ramona spotted it.

Glinting at her in the bushes in the garden was an S-shaped butcher's hook, connected to a ten-foot bamboo pole. It resembled a primitive fishing rod.

"That's how the intruder got in, then. Fishing." Ramona says, and everyone follows her gaze.

The instrument was designed especially to be shoved into a letterbox, and it would fish around, until the butcher's hook caught onto some keys.

SOCO's, or Scene Of Crime Officers, were swarming the building now, all in their white overalls and blue gloves.

"Everybody thinks they're so _safe_." Sherlock mutters, as Lestrade directs a SOCO to it.

From the stench of petrol and the burnt blackness of the living room, it was clear that someone had tried to set the whole thing on fire.

Two fire officers were inspecting the scorched patches of wallpaper and floor from the unsuccessful attempt at arson.

Sherlock was the first to see the corpse, as they approached it.

Ramona felt acid burn her throat as her and the Consulting Detective crouched down to inspect it. Or him, she should say.

It was a teenage boy, couldn't be older than sixteen, staring straight through the ceiling with wide open, almost shocked looking beautiful blue eyes, that would never see again. He was only wearing his pyjama trousers, that were blue and had footballs on them, to make matters worse. Blond hair was pulled down by gravity to the oak wood flooring, revealing a single entry wound bang centre of his forehead, as if someone had taken measurements to get perfect symmetry. If that was the case, it had worked. And then, her eyes drifted to his legs, and she half wished she hadn't looked. His legs were splayed every which unnatural way, unnerving and sickening her at the same time. A difficult feat.

Sherlock dared to glance up at her, and quickly observed her skin, now white as a sheet, and an expression of so much disgust it appeared as if she was about to throw up. He knew better, though. It seemed as if Ramona had a hard time disconnecting the corpse from an actual, living, breathing person. He had experienced that before, but by now he was accustomed, acclimatized to the dead. He felt nothing, and wondered if it made him a bad person. He turned back to the boy, trying to focus.

"What do you think made that?" Lestrade asks them.

"Point-blank range." Ramona came out with.

"Nine millimetre." Sherlock finished.

Then, The Consulting Detective looked around.

"Where are the casings? Have you already bagged them?" He turns to Lestrade.

"There aren't any." And with that, Ramona and Sherlock's interest was piqued.

"Taking the time to collect the casings. Impressive." He remarks, and Ramona raises a brow, but doesn't comment.

Looking up at him now, as he lost himself studying and deducing, it was clear just how heartbreakingly beautiful he truly was. It wasn't as if Ramona had never noticed before, but now it was stark obvious. His raven curls fell forward off his face, his profile practically royal, with the straight long nose, cupid's bow, the crystal clear blue eyes that seemed to see everything, and the trademark structured and defined cheekbones. Jesus, he was absolutely gorgeous. Why had she cared if he told a few fibs? Was she completely and utterly mental? Who cared if he-

"What about the legs?" Lestrade asks, and once again, Ramona snapped out of it.

She made a mental note to stop zoning out so much, and turned to answer him.

"Can't have been a sledgehammer, so I'd say a car."

"Plausible." Sherlock backs her up, and then points to the boys arms. "There's gravel on his arms and feet. He's been outside." Once again, there was an impressed air about the detective.

Ramona stood up and looked around, and after a few moments, Sherlock mirrored her.

She quickly set her eyes on something that shattered her heart ever so slightly.

A dog's basket tucked away in the corner, that looked more expensive than her shoes, and stitched into it was;

**My Name Is Graf **

"What about the dog?" Ramona blurts out, looking to the official detectives.

"Dog? We're up to our knees in a Charles Manson bloodbath and you want to know about the _dog_?" Sally seems disbelieving, and Ramona snaps her mouth shut, deciding not to rise to it and look away. "Graf. These rich people love giving their dogs weird names, don't they?" Sally continues, looking to the dog basket.

"It's Russian." She counters. "Graf is a title given to Russian nobility. Counts, specifically." Ramona felt that she had gotten her one-up.

Looking to the glass wall, Ramona could not make out the garden. It was, after all, still mostly dark.

But then, that all changed.

Huge arc lights were turned on all of a sudden, illuminating the garden. It was Japanese style, just as the front garden was. Ramona was, for a moment, taken over by the beauty of it. In the middle of it all was a large, weathered, green temple bell, sounding out serenely as it swung in the morning breeze.

Before she could look at any more of the garden, Sherlock stood in front of her view, ignorantly blocking it.

"There's more upstairs, then." He didn't seem as excited as usual, and Ramona wondered why.

And then, as he moved to go upstairs, she knew why.

There was a Cavalier King Charles Spaniel sprawled across the grass outside, and looking so peaceful, making her half wonder if it was just sleeping for a moment. Unfortunately, she knew better.

Her eyes saddened, brow furrowing, but she tried to keep it at arm's length, but the image was now seared into her mind.

She shuddered, before turning away, and following them up the stairs.

Going up the stairs, Ramona studied all of the photos lining the wall. It soon became clear that they had been the perfect family. Stylish and tasteful i slimline expensive black frames.

The mother and father were beautiful, as were the kids. The man was around six foot, athletic, and you could tell just from his soft face, free of frown lines, that he was kind, a kind of man that you would take home to your parents. He looked like a joyful mid-forties. She wondered if he had ever even raised his voice to his children. Absentmindedly, Ramona smiled, at the thought of a doting father, a complete family, a loving, warm home.

Then, it hit her that she could never have that, and the smile quickly disappeared.

The mother had that sort of beauty that made your head turn, no matter what gender you were attracted to. Golden tresses fell perfectly, large brown eyes that melted, a perfect ski slope nose and slender, long limbs, making her around five foot ten. She looked like a barbie that lacked the plastic falseness, replaced by a true kindness in her eyes. There was no way anyone was that perfect, though. She had to have some kind of fault, something to hide. Everyone did.

The children- there were two, an older boy, the one they had just seen, and a girl, who appeared around fourteen in the pictures. They were sporty kids, it seemed, so Ramona instantly had nothing in common with them. They were both privately schooled, that much was obvious, from all the posh uniforms, the skiing trips, and the endless photos of hockey and cricket matches. Cute.

She might have just been seeing things, maybe all children looked a bit alike to her, but she couldn't help seeing Paddy in them.

As she progressed up the stairs, she watched the children age, watched them become little teenagers, people in their own right.

The last picture that she saw, however, brought her out of the dreamlike state that she floated through.

This was a family of six.

A baby was held in the woman's arms, a little baby boy, a little bundle of unexpected joy. Not that it would have bothered them, though. They had the room, they had the funds, and they had all that happiness and good fortune to spare.

The little boy must have been five, now.

_Two years younger than Paddy._

Ramona felt bile rising, as she found the last picture, and a pang ran through her.

The boy looked so much like Paddy, it was sickening. There was something his small, delicate nose, the freckles, the way his eyes seemed to be so alive, even in a photograph.

"And there's no one left alive?" She asks to a random SOCO, who was passing her on the stairs.

"All we've got is bodies, I'm afraid. It's awful, I know." She replies.

A whole family.

Sally had been right. This was a bloodbath.

This was what everyone was supposed to aim for, to strive for. This was everybody's ultimate endgame, a happy, healthy, beautiful family that undoubtedly loved each other. And it had all been taken away, brutally, suddenly, and without mercy, in the middle of the night.

Ramona ran to the bathroom.

Getting inside, there was thankfully no SOCO in sight, and she slammed the door behind her, locking it, before getting to the toilet, going onto her knees and retching.

It was horrible. She'd never seen anything like it.

Ramona was suddenly thankful she had had no breakfast, as her heaves brought up absolutely nothing but a bad taste in her mouth.

Her eyes started to water as her stomach finally stopped.

She got up slowly, thankful that Sherlock was nowhere to be seen.

Ramona had to get over this. Why couldn't she stop thinking about the family? The kids, even the fucking dog-

And with that she was back on her knees again, feeling her stomach involuntarily heave.

She calmed her mind slowly this time. She tried to forget about everything, about the dead, about the evil infiltrating the house.

And then, she got to her feet, and was fine.

Ramona took a piece of mint chewing gum from its packet in her pocket and placed one in her mouth, thankful for the taste that overran the acid, before turning, unlocking the door, and leaving the bathroom.

In the landing, there was the body of the teenage girl, lying on her front, head turned to the left, arms down at her sides.

She looked at her for a moment, and, whispering a quick Lord's Prayer for forgiveness, Ramona then steps over the dead body, following the voices in the master bedroom.

Ramona steeled herself, before entering.

Inside there was the body of the mother, an entry wound in the back of her head, making those perfectly straightened tresses matted with red, and the pristine white pillow stained with crimson.

And then, there was the man. The husband, the father, the bread-winner. The one with entry wounds for eyes.

Two shots had been taken at point-blank range, a bullet in each eye. His body was propped against the dressing table beside the bed, and the wallpaper behind him was now scattered with brains and pulp, a halo of aftermath.

The scene was a testament to evil, if anything.

"It was the father that they came for." Sherlock said, voice still steady, still that same baritone. He was so unaffected that it scared her. "He came for the father, then decided to take out the entire family. The mother, the son and daughter, they were just collateral damage. But this- this is personal."

They stood in silence for a moment.

"There's just one thing I'm not clear on," Sherlock begun.

"What about the little boy?" Ramona finished.

The silence turned deadly.

"What little boy?" Lestrade asked.

**###########################################**

The Specialist Search Team arrived in fourteen minutes and forty five seconds.

Their prime objectives are usually to collect evidence after a terrorist attack, and they clear areas before state visits or ceremonial events, their services had been used in the 2012 London Olympics, coronations and royal weddings. Sometimes, they lend their talents to Homicide.

Ramona stood in pale silence as they searched the house in hopes of finding a tiny corpse, and silently prayed that they wouldn't.

They looked in every thinkable place, from the bins to behind the telly, in kitchen cupboards and even the bread bin, the washing machine, then the oven and then the garden.

Finally, they crossed the fence into Highgate Cemetery.

Even then, they didn't find anything.

Ramona looked to Lestrade.

"Want me on the murder or the disappearance?" Greg's eyes widen for a moment, shocked at having an ounce of power when it came to a genius.

"Er-"

"Actually, forget I said that." Her voice turned dark, ominous, turning to the door. "I'll go for both."

With this, she went to leave.

Ramona started to plan out what her next step was to solve it, to bring the piece of filth that did this to justice. Steely determination filled her, and suddenly the only thing she cared about was the case. The only thing that possessed her to move wasn't the solving, it was the justice. The excitement of catching a criminal, of putting them away, it was-

"Got a theory?" A question wrapped in baritone behind her.

So this was how they were going to play it. Fine with her.

"Two, but at the same time, none." She replied, revealing nothing.

"Want to share?"

"I prefer to show than tell, actually." A smirk twitched at his mouth for a moment.

"Fair enough."

It was strange, how they worked together. An argument as catastrophic as that was just swept under the rug, all for the work. It was as if their personal relationship and their work relationship were completely separate. That was exactly how they liked it, too.

"I've got a proposition, though, if you're curious."

"I'm intrigued."

"Course you are." She smirked. "First one to solve it, first one to bring the bastard in and find out how he did it, wins."

"A race?" He was getting more interested by the second, she could practically feel it radiating from him.

"Something like that. Something exactly like that." They reached the pavement.

"What's the prize?"

"The thrill of winning, obviously."

"This is getting quite exciting, isn't it?" Ramona raised a brow.

"If you insist. May the best man win."

"Thank you." He expects at least a smile from this, but gets nothing, as she produces her keys from her leather jacket pocket.

"Don't flatter yourself. I'll be two weeks, at a push." Ramona reaches her motorbike, and Sherlock stops at the pavement beside her, as she puts the keys into the ignition, before lifting the seat.

"Two weeks? You're getting slow, aren't you?" She gets out her helmet, and closes the seat again.

"At a push, I said." Ramona puts a leg over her bike, kicking the stand out from under her. "I'm getting better, Sherlock, I can feel myself gearing up. You're the one slowing down."

"I won't go easy on you." He replies. Ramona puts on her helmet, and turns to him, face now hidden behind the black.

"Good." He hears, muffled.

With that, she turns away from him, leaning forward, revving the ignition once, before setting off, leaving Sherlock to watch as she rode through the gates, already speeding.

"Feel your legs?" Lestrade, amused, who had been watching the entire time.

Sherlock was slack-jawed, eyes fixed at the last place he had seen her.

"No." Was his simple response, before blinking, and dragging himself out of it.

If it was a race she wanted, then that's what she'd get.

But it'd be on his terms.

**###########################################**

Ramona was certain of what she needed to do, what she wanted to do.

It just so happened that these two things were completely different.

She sits in her favourite cafe the next day, waiting for Sherlock, steam curling upwards from a hot chocolate in front of her. Outside, there was the London-esque dreary grey, teamed with the London-esque canopy of umbrellas, shielding themselves from the onslaught of perpetual rain. Inside it was warm, a bubble of comfort, but Ramona didn't take off her thick woolly scarf, as she turned to the television in the cafe for a moment. It was a forecast, predicting snow. She prayed that it would snow-and heavily- for a moment, before turning back to her work.

Thinking about it, Ramona could understand that he might be confused as to what she wanted with this meeting. Perhaps a reconciliation? Or an explanation? Apology? Unfortunately, none of the above was about to happen.

Ramona's very British plan was to simply try and forget anything like that had happened. She knew that it would be difficult, but his well-being was more important than hers. Distance herself from him personally, whilst staying at his side. Not an easy feat, but it could be done. She was going to make sure that it was done. At the end of the day, it had been quite possibly the best time of her life, but every dog has its day, and hers had now passed.

Studying her Macbook Pro screen, it was clear that she had got a lot of information about the victims- Ramona knew how to do her homework, she had learnt from the best. Now, however, she was stunted. There was nothing to be said as to the disappearances, no suspects or motives to the murder.

Suddenly she gets a feeling of being watched, and looks up, to see a certain detective, who's expression was calculating as he sits opposite her, not breaking eye contact.

Ramona swallows as Sherlock's eyes refuse to leave hers, and starts to get flashbacks of, well, less PG scenes. Staring for a moment, swearing she could feel his lips on her neck, she then blinks, and then again, looking down, and feeling her face flush slightly for all different kinds of reasons. Maybe this would be harder than she had originally thought.

"The-the Irwins are- were, a family of six." She began, stuttering slightly, a rare occurrence, before turning the laptop so that it was in view of them both.

"Six?" He raises a brow at the lack of a greeting. Ramona hadn't meant it as rude, it was more pushed to the side because of her practiced lines. Because she had already rehearsed what she was going to say a thousand times, getting dressed to come here, getting the tube here, and waiting for him here.

"Including the dog, yeah. The dog's always apart of the family." Sherlock smiles. "There's the mother, Mary Irwin, formerly Mary Keating." She gestures to a picture of the blonde woman, the same cool beauty that had haunted her only yesterday. "The Father, Mike Irwin. Daughter, Tabitha. Youngest son, Callister, eldest, Achilles. Rich people don't half love pretentious names."

"Any leads on the little boy?" He asked, turning from the screen to her.

"No. You?"

"None."

"Brilliant." Ramona started, sarcastically. "You don't have an international reputation for nothing, eh?" Sherlock's mouth twitched into a smirk at the familiar remarks that he had grown to love. "Oh, sorry, do you want anything?" She asked, referring to his lack of anything in front of him.

"No thanks. Not hungry."

"Shocking." Sherlock couldn't help but let his smirk grow, even as he got back to the case. She was on form today.

"It's not a spree killer or a contract killer. It doesn't make sense."

"Contract killers are shit. The ones you find in pubs, anyway. A good assassin is a rare one, thankfully, they aren't all Ezio Auditore Da Firenze." The reference went straight over Sherlock's head. "And if it was an _assassino_, why would they kidnap a kid?"

"Trafficking."

"Mm, maybe. But why _that _kid? You realise how much a rich kid'd stick out among the usual kids they take, right? Wouldn't be worth it, in case the extra exposure gets them- well- exposed."

"Extortion." He suggests.

"More plausible. These are seriously rich people. I looked into Mary, the mum. She was a gymnast, competed in the Olympics. That was how she met her husband, Mike, at the Olympics. She got bronze, he was just a VIP part of the crowd, though." Sherlock watched her speak with a certain carefulness. "What about her family? You done any homework on them?"

"The Keatings? Yeah. I went to school with her elder brother."

"Jesus." She blurts, the class divide between the two more prominent now.

"What?" Sherlock asks, defensive tinged into his deep voice.

"Nothing." _Posh git._ "Her father, though, that's a businessman for you. Started off in the seventies, bought a one bedroom flat in Tottenham, did it up, sold it, went from there. People like to say say he owns the half of the better half of London."

"Dalton Keating. 'The Man Who Built London'. The Business is jointly run by him his son- Mary's brother- Kincaid Keating. They now mainly deal in houses in Kensington, Westminster, Knightsbridge, Wimbledon, Notting Hill, and Chelsea."

"So, basically, they sell super over-priced houses to super stupid more-money-than-brains people?"

"Bitter, Ramona?"

"Hardly. I got a promotion yesterday, actually." She says, trying and failing not to look smug and proud of herself.

"Ooh, a promotion?" He smirks. "They letting you clean the sinks as well as the toilets now?"

"Yeah, but they're not letting me anywhere near the mop just yet." They laugh, and can feel the awkwardness falling away already.

That was what happened, though, when you'd known each other for five years. Then again, the fact that he had the dexterity to be both comforting and exciting was a bit frightening of a fact, for her.

"Seriously, though, I've got my own office, and a PA." He raised his eyebrows, and Ramona secretly hoped he was impressed.

"So soon?"

"Yeah, someone got fired, and apparently I was the most qualified, plus I recently won a pretty important case."

"Well, congratulations." He said, fairly. "Although, I never thought you'd actually get a proper job."

"What makes you say that?" She frowns lightly, although she knows where he's coming from.

"Promotions, suits, offices... not your thing, Ramona."

"Suppose not, no. But money _is_." He gives her a look as she smirks to herself. "Oh, and the work's fairly rewarding. Helping people, as well, that's good." Sherlock narrows his eyes at her, smiling now.

"Glad you added that bit at the end. I was beginning to suspect you were just in it for the money."

"And where would you get an idea like that?" She replied, both of them leaning closer to each other now.

All of a sudden, Ramona realised that they had departed from friendly banter, and quickly crossed the line into full-blown flirting.

Flirting was not allowed.

Clearing her throat, she averted her gaze from him, leaning back, and looked back at her screen.

"We can rule out a professional, then." Ramona continued, as if the flirting had never happened.

"Why would a spree killer target a gated community with two families living in it, and then go for only one house? Why would they pick up the casings and try to set fire to the house afterward?"

"It's a tricky one." She admitted.

"Just the way I like them." There was silence for a moment, as she looked back to the television. "Ramona, when are you going to-"

"Fuck!" She shouted, alerting the entire cafe to her. "Shit, sorry, I- I'm Northern." She excused, and with a few grumblings, people turned back to their own business.

"What?" He asked. She nodded at the screen, and he followed her gaze.

"Oh, no." She put a hand to her face in exasperation.

On the screen, there was a woman who resembled a younger Mary Keating stood in front of a wooden podium, flashes from cameras hitting her perfect face every so often.

"That's the mother's sister, then. Telling the world about Callister's disappearance."

"What is she doing?!" Sherlock was outraged. "Has Lestrade actually approved this?!"

"It's not his division, that's the media liaison officer's job. God, this is bad."

"Soon we're going to have too many false leads to get to the real ones."

"The real kidnapper'll be pushed into the ground under the stampede of nutters all claiming to have seen a fair-haired kid."

They both looked to the television.

There was a man, he must have been six foot, stood beside his sister. He had that same blond hair that could be linked to the Keating family. Kincain.

"My sister and I have just seen bodies of our sister's entire family." He says, solemnly. The words are polished by his accent, but at the same time, raw with emotion. "Our family has been broken, as have our hearts. We are still having trouble comprehending what has happened, and would like for the press to respect our privacy at this sensitive and hard time. Our nephew, Callister, has been taken." With this, there is a flurry of flashes.

"Please," Began his sister, whose name she had yet to know. "My nephew is a perfect, innocent, beautiful little boy." Her words were as soft as her beautiful, perfectly structured face, yet her eyes were so troubled. Her eyes would haunt Ramona for years to come, as she felt her eyes start to fill. "Callister would never hurt anyone, he's never done anything wrong. Please, don't hurt him. Please. Bring Callister Back."

With that, there was an explosion of flashes, and the press had found their poster girl.

"That'll be their tacky slogan for the next six months, then." Sherlock says, rolling his eyes. "As if a public plea has ever gotten a child back." He turns to her. "What a load of-" A pang runs through him, shocked, as he sees Ramona, staring wide-eyed at the screen. She blinks, and tears run down her face.

Ramona seems to have shocked herself as well as him, as she quickly wipes her face, hoping Sherlock hadn't seen. But he had.

"Ramona," His voice was so surprised, but soft. "Are you...?"

"Sorry, er," She let out a shaky little laugh, trying to calm herself. But she was shaking. " I- it's just- Paddy, and, I would, I don't know what I'd do if-" Ramona stops herself, taking a deep breath, closing her eyes briefly, and trying to separate her own family from this one.

"It's fine." She looked up, and saw Sherlock, his gaze now trapping hers. "I understand."

And then, she felt the warmth of his large hand over hers, which was palm down on table, balled into a fist.

Ramona's eyes widened as she looked down to the rare spectacle of Sherlock comforting someone.

And then, a stab of guilt, as she realised that it wasn't allowed.

Quickly, she took her hand out of his grip and began typing with both hands on her laptop. Sherlock's eyes widened for a moment in registered hurt, before tensing his jaw, and looking to the laptop.

She was searching for the sister.

"Look, Claudia Keating. High fashion model, spends most of her time in between London and Paris, by the looks of it. Hardly surprising, though." She said, scrolling through the woman's portfolio. "She's perfect."

"Really?" Sherlock peered at the photographs, and Ramona felt a tightening in her stomach, that she knew shouldn't be there. "I don't see it." He concludes, and Ramona blinks.

"What?" Her tone was incredulous.

"I don't see it." He repeats. "She's nothing special."

"How can you-" She frowns harder, looking from him to the photographs. "Are we looking at the same person? She's possibly... the most beautiful woman, ever?"

"Hardly." He shrugs, standing up. "I suppose people have different tastes."

"Yeah, some people like good looking people, some... don't?" Ramona shook her head as Sherlock smirked, knowing exactly who he thought held the title. If only she'd see it.

She stood up, closing her laptop, and putting it in her bag.

"I think our priority's the boy, don't you?" Ramona says, putting the straps of her black leather bag onto her left shoulder.

"Mm." He agrees. "They could be taking him out of the country."

"If that's the case, then we're _royally_ fucked."

"That's a new one." Sherlock remarks, causing her to smile, before the seriousness hits her features once again.

"You know what they say about missing kids, anyway."

"Find them fast," Sherlock began.

"Or don't find them at all." Ramona finished, ominously.

* * *

**Straight into a new case! **

**I know these are shorter than usual, but I'm pacing them. **

**Thanks for reading, loads of love for reviewers!**


	69. Just Like Heaven

**Just Like Heaven - The Cure**

**I own nothing but the OC!**

* * *

Sherlock and Ramona stood in Bart's, opposite from Molly on the other side of the corpse of the mother, Mary Irwin.

"They're- er- not gunshot wounds." Molly Hooper told them, hair plaited. "They're actually circular fractures. I can understand why you thought that they were gunshot wounds, though." Sherlock mentally kicked himself for not recognising it. Looking now, they really were identical to a point-blank gunshot.

"Isn't it the burns around the wound that make it look so identical? Abrasion collars, that's what they're called." Ramona asked the pathologist, trying to give herself a bit of leeway, trying to learn from her. "At point-blank a gunshot burns the victim, isn't that right?" She was an eager student to Molly.

"Yeah, that's right." Ramona and Molly smile at each other, and it was at that exact moment that Ramona wanted to know more about her.

The temperature of the mortuary was always kept just below freezing, and Ramona was now thankful for the zip up hoodie that she had on under her her leather jacket, almost looking as if it connected to the outer layer of leather, as only the black hood was visible.

The Irwins lay in a row on their own beds of sterile metal, starting with the dad on one end, and ending with the daughter on the other.

"It wasn't a firearm that killed them." Molly continued. "It was a..." Her voice trails off. "I'm still not sure what it was exactly."

"This- I've seen this before." Sherlock starts, starting to look frustrated as he racks his brain to recall the memory. "Ramona, do you recognise this at all?" She looks up to him, a bit flustered at now being relied on by him, and knew the answer right away.

"No. I've never seen anything like this." He appears slightly disheartened by this, but continues to listen to her. "Something with enough power to force a section of bone into the brain... no, nothing's coming to me." Now feeling embarrassed that she doesn't know something, and having to admit in front of Sherlock, she shifts the attention back to the dead body. "What about the toxicology report?"

"It's not finished yet, but I can tell you that traces of flunitrazepam were found in all of their systems."

"Rohypnol." Ramona and Sherlock mutter in union. They chance a glance to each other in slight surprise.

"It hasn't got an odour, so there's no need to beat yourselves up about not noticing it." Molly smiles sheepishly.

"It wasn't a professional, then." Ramona starts. "There were no casings to pick up in the first place."

"I know of all the assassins that do their rounds in London. None of them use..." Sherlock's voice trails off, as everyone looks down at Mary's entry wound in the centre of her forehead. "That particular method."

"The bodies were found in mild stages of rigor mortis. Going by the twelve-twelve-twelve rule, we can take a pretty accurate guess that they were killed six hours before they were found at six am."

"Ooh, midnight, spooky." Ramona remarks, balancing between wanting to smirk and roll her eyes at the cliche. Sherlock fights off a smile, eyes flickering towards the blonde briefly, before turning to Molly.

"What about the boy?"

"He's got loads of abrasions and bruising everywhere." She replies, lifting the white sheet from the now dead Achilles.

Ramona's eyes widen at the black and blue marks all over the boy, starting to make her feel slightly queasy. She was starting to annoy herself, that she could now barely stomach a disfigured corpse. But then again, she supposed that that was what happened when you shot someone in cold blood.

"He's also got broken femurs."

"Hah- I was right! The thigh bone's the strongest bone in the body. Most of them are broken in one way only." Ramona blurts, trying to mask her quite clear discomfort. Sherlock shoots her a judging, one eyebrow raised look, that said all he wanted to.

"Well done." He allows. "He was run over and then carried into the house."

"How can you tell he was carried?" Molly asks.

"No scrapes anywhere on the back of his legs." Ramona says. "They recently had a new driveway put in, too, so that would definitely have cut him up a bit. That narrows the murder to someone strong, then. He's eleven stone three pounds of private school sport built muscle."

Sherlock stares at Ramona, mouth parted, before blinking twice, and looking down to the slaughtered, disfigured and violated family of cold corpses.

_Oh, this is really too romantic._

"It wasn't the car that killed him, though." Molly tells them. "It was epidural bleeding that got him. I would show you the brain, but, I think you get the picture." Ramona let out a breath. "The girls- Mary and Tabitha- they died from subdural bleeding. It was blunt-force trauma for all three of them, a blow to the head causing internal bleeding. All of them died from that, apart from the dad." Everyone looked to the middle aged man at the end. "What got _him_ was a heart attack. Probably, it was after the killer got whatever-it-was he was using into the first eye."

"Lovely." She replies, sarcastically. "Any defensive wounds at all?"

"The daughter, Tabitha, she fought." Molly replied, looking down at the girl regretfully. "She was a very brave girl, it would seem." At this, Sherlock brightens.

"Did she have broken nails, by any chance?" He asks. Broken nails usually contained the attackers skin underneath, meaning that they could be traced.

"No," The detective instantly loses the hopeful exterior. "Just a few broken fingers." Ramona grimaces as her own fingers go numb for a second. God, what was wrong with her? She had never been like this!

"Any,er-" Ramona's voice was softer at her newly found squeamishness. "Any signs of sexual assault of the victims?"

"The mother." Molly replies, the pathologist now smaller than ever around the sensitive subject. "She was raped. It was the same night, so it was the killer, it looks like."

"Jesus." She remarked, realising she felt a little dizzy. This was terrible, it was sick and perverted, maybe one of the worst cases she had ever been on. Could she actually pull through this feeling long enough to catch the killer?

"Are you alright?" Sherlock looked concerned, brow creased as he watched her carefully, as if ready to catch her at a moment's notice. "You've gone pale."

"I'm fine. Sorry. Just being..." Ramona swallowed. "Stupid." His seemingly cold eyes didn't leave her for a minute as she tried to pull herself out of it. "Does... does the family know?"

"Her sister, Claudia Keating, she knows. I told her when she came to identify the bodies."

"She came alone?" Molly nodded in response to Sherlock's question.

"She asked me not to make it public when I told her."

"What?" Ramona asked. "It'll come out in court, surely. You can't keep that private."

"She knows, but, all the same... Her dad's ill at the moment, and her brother... she told me that her brother loved her sister with everything he had. She said that she didn't think her family could take that news as well."

"Understandable." Ramona considers, before turning to Sherlock. "For the murder, our lead's gonna come from the weapon. Something as unique as this... it'll get us a suspect in no time." Sherlock gives a nod.

"Afternoon, Molly." The detective says, turning to leave.

"Hey, Molly, do you want to..." Ramona begins. "Maybe, get coffee some time, or something?"

"Yeah! I- I mean, yeah, I'd like that." The girls grin at each other.

"Cool. Thanks for your help on this, we appreciate London's best pathologist giving us a hand." Ramona winks, as she goes to leave. "I'll text you. See you later."

Sherlock was waiting for her outside as she closed the door on London's best pathologist.

"I remember those wounds." Sherlock wasted no time in speaking quickly to her. "I know what the weapon is. I just can't- argh!" Frustration was audible and visible as his jaw tensed and he exclaimed in pure annoyance, his supposedly perfected mind palace now failing him.

"You'll remember." She reassured him, starting to walk down the hallway, the detective walking beside her. "I suggest you do it quickly, though."

"Thank you for the helpful tip, Ramona." Sarcasm filled his tone as he replied.

"Oh, shut up." A smirk lit up her face.

"Ooh, witty comeback."

"I'll give you a witty comeback."

"Hopefully."

_Dangerously close to flirting, Ramona. _

"So- er- doing anything tonight? We could..." They both stop as Ramona turns to him. "Get takeaway, or, go to Angelo's to recap or something."

"Fast food again, Ramona?" He shakes his head mockingly, turning and beginning to walk again. She frowns and quickly catches up with him.

"What?"

"You've put on a very visible four pounds since you got back, and sitting at a desk all day isn't doing you any good." He states.

A hot flush of intense embarrasment runs through her, having been called out on her weight by Sherlock, possibly one of the worst things that could happen to anyone, ever.

"You didn't seem to have a problem with it." Ramona mutters.

"Sorry?"

"Nothing."

They reach the doors of the hospital, and the cold winter evening hits her hard, the rain now gone. Ramona made a note to buy a jumper or two, for various reasons.

"Anyway, I'll see you later." Ramona says, walking towards the taxi rank. Sherlock frowns, watching her go.

"What? I thought we were going to Angelo's."

Ramona was halfway in the cab now.

"Ovington Square, please." She told the cabby, before turning back to Sherlock. "So did I, actually. Funny how people don't want to be around you when you insult them, isn't it?" Sherlock's mouth parts, staring at her in disbelief as she smirks.

"I was joking, Ramona. Don't be so sensetive."

"I've got work in the morning." She winks. "Text me." With this, Ramona got into the cab, closing the door.

Sherlock watched the cab leave with an unreadable expression, before sighing, and walking to get into one himself, silently cursing his bluntness.

**###########################################**

_"Ramona. Can you hear me. Ramona, can you hear me." _

_Ramona stands in the claustrophobic darkness, so tangible she could feel it pressing into her skin with the weight of an ocean._

_Suddenly, that's what's pressing her down._

_She's drowning._

_Going down, down, down, eyes staring straight ahead, watching the streaks of light cut through the inky darkness of the mass of water._

_The girl couldn't feel her body. She couldn't feel anything apart from numb as she continued to descend, feeling more empty than calm._

_"If you can hear me, I want you to try to swim." _

_But she didn't want to swim. She didn't want to try. Even though her lungs ached, she didn't want air._

_"I want you to come to the water's surface, Ramona. Please, if you can hear me-"_

_Whose voice was that? It didn't sound like any she had ever heard before. It was as if it was an internal voice, one that stayed the same volume whether it screamed or whispered._

_"I want you to survive. I want you to swim."_

_Why didn't the voice think about what she wanted?_

_But then, it was too late._

_Her back hit the seabed gently, and Ramona's eyes were still wide open._

_She slowly got up, looking around as her hair floated in the water above her._

_At first there was nothing. It was just the same darkness that she had seen at the start._

_But then, light started to seep in. Started to infect the endless eclipse._

_Without fail, Ramona started to panic. She was drowning, stuck at the bottom of the ocean._

_Compression should have killed her now. Looking up, she couldn't even see the surface for the darkness._

_She began to swivel, looking around for something, anything that could help her. _

_Turning again, and again, and again, and-_

_Ramona let out a piercing scream into the water, that came out as if on land, eyes widening and stepping back in fear._

_Magnussen stood before her, in all his glory, a bullet hole square between his shark eyes._

_"Miss Doherty." He says._

_She shakes her head in horror, stepping further away from him, outstretching a hand to point at him._

_"You- you're dead."_

_"Thanks to you." _

_The Shark was in his natural habitat. The depths of the vast, inescapable ocean. _

_"You murdered me- in cold blood."_

_"Stay away from me!" She says, as he advances towards her._

_"You're a monster."_

_"No." _

_"Yes you are. You know you are."_

_He keeps walking towards her, and as much as she tries to get away, her limbs are heavy, hard to make any use of as she steps backwards._

_And then, she hits a wall._

_Or so she thinks, until she swivels round to face it._

_Ivan stands there, six foot of mugger._

_Six foot of murdered mugger._

_"I begged you not to."_

_"Please-"_

_"I begged you." He repeats._

_"Don't, please, I-"_

_"That's what I said. BUT PLEASE DOESN'T WORK!" He roars suddenly, and she flinches away from him._

_"You can't stand dead bodies now, can you?" Magnussen asks._

_"Leave me alone."_

_"A murderer that can't stomach the dead. You're painted with every shade of irony possible, my dear." The shark says._

_"I'm not a murderer!"_

_"A murderer; A person who commits murder." Magnussen tells her. "Correct me if I'm mistaken, but don't you fit that criteria quite snugly?"_

_"I had a family. I'll never see them again, because of you." _

_"Do you feel even a morsel of regret?"_

_"You're not real. None of this is real."_

_"It's fascinating, how you lie and murder your way through life, and still get to be called a good person, don't you think?"_

_"I never claimed-"_

_"This is going to kill you, Ramona." Magnussen says, and suddenly, grabs her throat, knuckles tightening around her neck. _

_Her eyes widen as he leans in._

_"We are going to kill you. We will have our revenge, Ramona. I promise you, we will destroy you from within. Even from the grave, I can still ruin you." _

_"You're not-" She chokes out. "You're not-"_

_"Oh, I am real, Ramona." He bares his teeth. "And... I am your worst nightmare. Quite literally."_

_Then, Magnussen flickers to Sherlock._

_Sherlock lifts her off her feet, his grip tighter and more painful than ever thought imaginable around her neck._

_"Sher-lock-" _

_"How are you supposed to solve crime when you can't even handle the corspes?" _

_"Put-me-"_

_"How are you supposed to fight criminals when you can't even fight your own demons?"_

_"Down-" _

_She tries to kick him, but he has her at arms length._

_"Worthless." _

_Sherlock releases her, and she's falling again, but this time, she lands on wood flooring._

_Ramona writhes on the floor for a moment, grasping at her throat and desperately trying to regain her breath._

_She tuns onto her hands and knees and waits for the world to stop spinning._

_Then, she looks up, and realises where she is._

_In front of her,the backs of four heads are visible from the couch. That's all she sees._

_Getting up onto her feet, she starts to stumble towards the couch._

_Forcing her aching body to move, she reaches it, resting her hands on the back of the sofa._

_In silence the heads slowly start to turn to her._

_The family stare back at her, deathly white, the entrance wounds deeper and more horrific than ever at the middle of their forehead._

_Ramona gasps, stepping backwards._

_As she gasps, her throat fills with water._

_Her eyes widen as she drowns, feeling her lungs fill with bitter sea water, unable to breath._

**###########################################**

Ramona awakes with a sharp intake of breath, shooting upwards in bed, body drenched in sweat.

She starts to shake uncontrollably as she checks the time on her phone.

**5:26 am**

Trying to calm herself, Ramona takes a deep breath, closing her eyes, and counting down from , it worked.

However, she knew she wasn't going to get back to sleep anytime soon.

_"You've put on a very visible four pounds since you got back, and sitting at a desk all day isn't doing you any good."_

Ramona promptly decides to go for a run before work, a flash of irritation and embarrassment(perhaps a bit of fear at the thought of sleeping), powered her to get up quickly in the ridiculously early hours, walking through the guest bedroom, from the double bedroom to the window.

She threw back the curtains, and a pang of shock hit her at what she saw.

Everything in sight was covered in an unbroken blanket of snow.

Even now, snow was falling thick and fast, huge snowflakes that quickly added onto the ever-growing new white ground.

And then, she started to get excited.

Ramona ran back over to her phone, checking her social media. It seemed as if the whole of London that had awoken so far were either up in arms about it, or just as excited as her.

As it turned to 5:30 exactly, she got an email from her work.

**Unfortunately****, the London office will not be open today. You will be contacted at 5:30 tomorrow morning as to the arrangements for tomorrow. Enjoy your snow day! **

**Kind regards, HR**

**Huntfield &amp; West LLP **

She took a moment of utter joy and disbelief, mouth parted in awe.

"YES!" She cried, jumping about the room, before landing back on the bed.

There was no way she was going for a run today, thank God.

Ramona quickly sprang up again, putting her phone to her ear and walking to the window.

"Hello?" There was a tired, crackly, and ridiculously hot baritone on the end of the line, and Ramona's heart fluttered for a moment.

She could picture him now, his romantically disheveled curls and his normally angular and sharp face soft from the pillow, maybe he wasn't wearing a t-shirt, maybe he was-

"Ramona? Hello?" She blushed as she snapped out of it.

"Sherlock, hello!"

"You sound awfully cheerful for three in the morning." She heard a shift from the sheets of his bed, sounding as though he was sitting up. "What's so urgent that you had to call?"

"Just- Sherlock- just go to the window."

"Mmm..." He debated. "No thank you."

"Just do it!"

Sherlock sighed, but she heard him get up, and slowly move across his room to the window.

"This better be good, or I'm going to-" He cut himself off in shock. She heard him take a deep breath as he surveyed the snow. Sherlock laughs in slight disbelief at the surreal situation.

"Lots of unbroken snow, hot drinks, warm clothes, and a bloody good mystery to solve." She proposes. "Glad I called?"

"Glad you called." He confirms, and there's an audible smile in his voice. He chuckles again, the detective admittedly giddy.

"I'll get you coffee on the way." Ramona says, as she walks through the room, through the door and onto the hallway, dropping her voice now. "Last one to Mount Olympus is an idiot."

"See you there." She was grinning as she ended the call.

**###########################################**

Ramona stood at the gates of Primrose Hill, waiting for a certain detective.

"Sorry I'm late." She hears, and swings around to see Sherlock in his usual get up of a purple scarf and his coat with its collar turned up, the end of his nose pink with the bitter cold, and as he let out a breath, a cloud momentarily formed in the air.

"You should be." Ramona told him, grinning at him as she handed him a large lidded Caffe Nero paper cup of black coffee with two sugars, which had been heating her right hand.

"Thanks." He took it off her with a leather-gloved hand, before knocking some of the bitter stuff back.

Ramona was dressed in the warmest clothes she had in her posession. This consisted of practical black boots with thick socks, blue skinny jeans, a long sleeved black thermal under her navy university hoodie with the hood shadowing half of her face, a white puffer coat, and her leather driving gloves. Still, she managed to be trembling in the cold. She now nursed her large paper cup of hot chocolate, her herself taking a drink in efforts to warm herself up from the inside.

"Come on, then." She said to him, before turning and walking to the security guard.

He straightened up in his swivel chair as he saw her.

"I'm Detective Sargent Sally Donovan," She lifted an ID card, that was in every detail Sally's apart from the photo. "And this is my colleague Detective Inspector Greg Lestrade." She gestured, as he held up Lestrade's ID, again, it was Greg's in everything expect the photograph.

"Yeah, I recognise you from Saturday." He nodded, pressing a button on his board so that the red light on the passenger's gate turned green with a small beep.

"Thanks." Ramona smiled and nodded. "Have a good day, now." Her smile turned to a smirk as she walked through the gate after Sherlock, and they began walking to the house side-by-side.

"Nice touch on Lestrade's false first name." Sherlock snorts in laughter. "'Greg'." Ramona shook her head with a grin, but decided she liked his refusal to learn Greg's first name too much to correct him. "Got any theories so far?" Sherlock asks, the unbroken snow crunching under his feet.

"One, although, it's far-fetched." She admitted, her words making steam appear in the cold air in front of her. "When I looked them up, I got a lot of information." She said, getting out her phone from the left zip-up pocket of her coat. "A bit too much, actually." Ramona unlocked her phone, and after a bit of searching, showed the screen to Sherlock, as they continued to walk. "Turns out that the kids were a bit of a big deal online, actually."

"Oh?"

"Yeah." She replied, showing him the girl's twitter. "Nothing as big as you, though, don't worry." Sherlock chuckled. "They have a ridiculous amount of followers on just about every social media you can think of. They were internet sensations in every sense of the word. And why wouldn't they be? They're good-looking, smart, sporty, and to top it off, very, very wealthy."

"Interesting. So you think..." His baritone trails off.

"People tend to be interested in people they're jealous of, Sherlock. The class divide gets wider every day; the rich get richer, the poor get poorer. I reckon that someone's jealousy of the perfect cut-out family on Mount Olympus got a bit too much." Sherlock nods.

"It seems to be a deliberate deconstruction of happiness."

"A bit poetic for my tastes, but yes, you get the gist." Sherlock chuckles as they walk around to the back of the neighboring house, towards the scaffolding. "That's the thing with murders of passion, actually. Everyone assumes it's all to do with love, but it's not; it's jealously. The dragon that burns love under the pretense of preserving it."

"And you call _me_ the poetic one." Sherlock remarks, with a smirk.

"Ah, shut up and hold my hot chocolate." Ramona says with a matching smirk, the top of her hood now dark with melted snowflakes as she handed him the coffee cup.

Ramona then turned, sizing up the scaffolding with a sinking feeling. She turns around again, an apologetic look on her face.

"Just realised that you're five foot two?" He asks, and she fights a grin.

"Funny. Gimme a boost up, would you?" Sherlock thought for a moment, before turning away, walking to one of the green bins and throwing the paper cups inside. Ramona's mouth fell open.

"I wasn't finished!" She cries, outraged.

"I'll buy you one to make up for it." He reasoned, with a bit of an eye roll as he approached her again.

"You'll buy me two!"

"Shut up, you'll wake them up."

"We're police. We can wake up whoever we want."

"I think you're forgetting the one fortunate detail of not actually being the police." He says.

The graveyard to the right of them was inaccessible to them, but not for long. There was only a twelve foot wall tall iron, pointed fence that stood between them and the cemetery.

"We can get in from this." Ramona tells him.

Ramona turns to face the scaffolding, and he crouches down behind her, interlocking his fingers as she raised her left foot, and placed it in his large hands.

"On the count of three." She says, readying herself. "One, two-"

Ramona lets out a small squeal as she's propelled into the air all of a sudden, catching herself on the wooden floor of the scaffolding, hanging there for a moment.

"I said on the count of THREE!"

"Did you? Sorry, didn't hear you." She can practically hear the amused look on his face.

Ramona grunted as she hauled her body up onto the scaffolding, lying there for a moment and looking up at the swirling snow above her, before rolling over, going to the ladder resting sideways on the wood.

Going over the the ledge, she peered back down at Sherlock on her knees, only her nose visible, peeking out from the shadows of her hood.

He was looking around, looking vaguely unimpressed but calculating, as was the Holmes way.

Ramona then looked away again, pulling the ladder towards her and then pushing it down towards him slowly, then resting it on the wooden scaffolding edge.

Sherlock arrived on the scaffolding and she stood up as he did.

Ramona went to peer downwards.

"Jesus. That's some drop." Her gaze shifted forward. "And that's one pointy fence."

"Scared?" He asks, looking amused.

"Obviously not, Sherlock." Ramona lies, and he sees right through her. "How are we going to get over?"

"That." Sherlock says, pointing upwards with a leather-clad finger.

Sherlock was pointing to a thick branch that outstretched from an huge tree planted on the verge of the cemetry, now brushing the top level of the scaffolding above them.

"You can't be serious." She muttered, and then turned to him. "You're being serious!" She exclaimed.

"Oh, it'll be fine." He waved a dismissive hand. "Watch me-" He went to walk forward, but Ramona had a hand on his coat, pulling him back.

"I'll go first. I'm lighter." Sherlock snorted in laughter.

"Not for long."

For this, Sherlock got a stamped-on foot, causing him to grunt in pain.

"Utter twat." She said, making sure that he heard, before rubbing her hands together. Sizing the branch up, she'd be fine. However, being short, she'd need a run up.

Ramona took a few steps back, took a deep breath, and then, started running. She leaped up and thankfully got hold of the thick branch.

She maneuvered herself to face Sherlock, who watched in silence as she swung her legs upwards to wrap around the branch, before pulling herself into the cemetery with her hands.

"Careful," Sherlock's voice was cautious, as she crossed over the gate, watching her with a slightly tilted head, for... reasons. Ramona's heartbeat was quick as she let her legs swing back down, turning around again and looking to the floor.

The snow crunched underfoot as she dropped down into the cemetery.

She surveyed her surroundings, before looking up.

"It's sa-" Ramona was cut off by surprise as Sherlock dropped down in front of her, coming up from the crouch to tower above her.

Without warning Sherlock's eyes had her trapped, staring down at her with such guarded intensity that she couldn't be sure what he was thinking. Who ever could?

And then he looked away, forwards to the graveyard beyond, and Ramona could only watch as a snowflake landed on his nose. Her face was numb at this point, completely void of feeling from the biting frost in the air. For some reason, Ramona liked it like this, preferred it to summer, she decided.

"It's like we're crossed into a completely different dimension." Sherlock mutters. She blinks, before turning, and looking.

In front of them, the stone angels were covered in a layer of snow, their halos white with it. Her boots were submerged and she couldn't see them, she discovered, looking down briefly.

Sherlock was right, she decided. It didn't feel like the heart of London, a bustling, vibrant city, it felt like they were alone, only the two of them in the entire universe, the cemetery teetering on the galaxy's edge. The raging snow felt calm, and for a moment, it was either stark obvious or easy to forget that age-old corpses lay only six feet beneath them.

They began walking, and the snowfall turned into a blizzard around them. In hindsight, this probably hadn't been the best idea.

"Kincain!" A woman's shout through the mist of white took them out of their dual trance, both of their eyes snapping towards the shrill sound.

"It... sounds like..." Ramona's voice trails off, as they start to walk towards it.

The blizzard gets even worse, and all of a sudden Ramona can't see anything.

She couldn't even see Sherlock.

"Sherlock!" She shouted out, turning once and becoming completely blind, not knowing what she was facing in the first place, as the snow whipped into a frenzy around her.

Then she was being hurtled backwards.

Ramona landed on her bum, her head hitting a tree trunk with her eyes screwed shut. The first thing that hit her was the instant chill of the snow, being half buried in it. Opening her eyes slowly, the first thing she saw was Sherlock on top of her, hair falling in front of his face. He was the only thing she could see as the snowstorm raged above them, and she quickly realised that Sherlock had pushed her behind a tree, providing small shelter from the snow for them both.

She lifted herself higher into a more comfortable position underneath him. Ramona parted her lips to say something, but found that she couldn't find anything in her vocabulary to express all the different things she wanted to say concisely.

Without a word, she found that Sherlock was slowly leaning in closer and closer to her, until their foreheads were touching. He was freezing, too, it seemed. Her heart raced and despite the cold, Ramona could feel his body heat radiating from him, warming her up a fraction.

Despite herself, despite everything in her being telling her to _stop, please stop, _she couldn't help but lean up closer to him, and closing her eyes as he did. If she could just have one last kiss, just one more, she could live without anymore of him. She just needed her final fix, a farewell hit. Ramona yearned for it, and even though she was fighting with herself, she knew she could never say no. She didn't have the willpower. And besides, no one could see them in the snow.

She took off one of her gloves, and put her bare hand on the side of his face, her hand warm to the touch compared to the frost Sherlock carried on his skin.

With this, their lips met. She briefly wondered if he tasted hot chocolate from her, as she could taste the coffee on his tongue, yet it was pleasant, coming from him. The growing heat of the kiss was a polar opposite to the blizzard around them, her once cold lips now warm from his. Her hand disappeared up into his hair, causing him to lean into the kiss more, desperate to get closer.

Nothing but the white noise of the storm to fill the silence, Sherlock's leather-clad hand was at the nape of her neck, and then his fingers ran upwards into her hair, eliciting a shudder from her already trembling form. There was an air of finality to it, a mutual knowing that this could never happen again. Sherlock knew that this couldn't happen again. Her insatiable longing for him only grew as he let out an involuntary guttural moan into her mouth. In that moment, there was nothing but the two of them, in the blizzard on the highest point of London, perhaps a whole other world entirely, in the overgrown cemetery behind a tree like a couple of kids-

"Claudia, thank God I found you." A deep voice, and Sherlock pulls away instantly. In spite of the cold, his face was flushed ever so slightly, as he got up, dusting himself off, clearing his throat.

the snow had calmed back to it's heavy, steady downfall, but the cemetery was now visible, the flash storm over as quickly as it began.

As Ramona stood up herself, she had to wonder whether they had kissed at all. It had felt so surreal, the entire thing.

When she looked up Sherlock was already walking off, but she kept her distance until they came across the sources of the voices.

"Sherlock Holmes." He introduced himself to the mystery person that was hidden behind his large frame. Ramona broke into a small jog as she came to stand beside Sherlock, and on seeing the person's face, her heart skipped a beat.

The most beautiful woman she had ever seen, without a doubt, stood before her, gracing Sherlock's entire existence by deciding to shake it, smiling up at him. Ramona could do nothing but stare, awe-struck by the freakish beauty that was Claudia Keating, in the flesh.

She was one of those lucky few that had a naturally perfect, well, everything. Her skin was youthful, glowing and clear, a delicate pink from the snow, her eyes bright and sparkling in a blue hue, her chin small and her hands dainty. From head to toe, she was everything you'd expect a fashion mode to be, and more.

"Claudia Keating." Her voice was sing-song and crystal clear, that practiced posh that came naturally to someone of such high stature in London's circles of the ever growing pretentious young upper class. For some reason, Ramona had the compulsion to bow, or at least curtsy.

And then, it popped into her head that Sherlock was looking at her, and she instantly felt like screaming. How was being _that _beautiful fair- at all?! It got to a point where it was just ridiculous, unneeded and completely-

"And you must be Mona Doherty." Claudia was addressing her now, Ramona, the girl who had just minutes ago been pushed down into the snow and kissed Sherlock, and was still a bit dizzy from the entire ordeal.

"Uh- yeah, that's me." She tried to keep an inch of dignity about her as she shook Claudia's hand with her leather-gloved one. Claudia smiled at her warmly, and Ramona felt her heart miss a few steps, eyes widening slightly.

"You two must be here investigating what happened to my sister's family." She swallowed.

"Yeah. I'm sorry about that, by the way."

"Thank you. It's been an awful past few days, especially with Callister being missing..." Her voice trailed, and her angelic eyes looked far away for a moment. "Please, tell me you won't give up on him. On my nephew. Please." There it was, that plea that left you just as helpless as her.

"Of course." Ramona blurted, before she comprehended anything. Being in her presence messed with your mind, it was clear that you had to have an iron will to withstand the strong psychological attack that was her bewitching appearance. "Of course. The police are doing everything they can, and so are we."

"I know what the statistics say; if you don't find a child within the seven-day window, then the child is never found." There was a flash of steely determination in her eyes. "But I know you'll find him- alive. I know Callister's not dead. I can _feel_ it."

"Claudia, are you here?" Kincain's voice was instantly recognizable, and Sherlock stiffened slightly, before straightening up, staring straight ahead as the man approached from behind.

"I'm here, Kincain." Then the brother was stood next to her. He wore a long coat over his sharp three piece suit, his blond hair the same trademark shade as Claudia's.

"No..." His voice trailed in disbelief. "Sherlock Holmes?" Ramona thought she was a short sigh produced from the detective, before a false smile pulled at his features.

"Kincain." Sherlock greeted.

"Well I'll be damned! You _were _an ugly duckling, weren't you?" He muses with light humour. Ramona raised an eyebrow, looking to Sherlock.

"I suppose, yes."

"You've had a growth spurt, too." He laughed. "I'd have difficulty pushing you around now, wouldn't I?" Something flashed in Sherlock's eyes, and for a moment pure loathing set in.

"I suppose, yes." He repeated, in an entirely different tone, and suddenly that guarded, terrifying edge was back to Sherlock.

A pang ran through her at the thought of a small, misunderstood Sherlock being pushed about and bullied, isolated although constantly being with others at boarding school, away from his family. She began to feel terrible for him, and made a note to do something thoughtful for him at the first oppurtunity.

Kincain's blue eyes roamed to Ramona, and widened upon seeing her, eyebrows raising. He had a sharp, strong jawline, and a strong, straight Roman nose.

"And who's this?" He asks, smiling at her.

"This is my col-"

"Girlfriend." Ramona corrects, outstretching a hand to the blond man, putting on her best charming smile, hiding her utter disdain. He takes her hand enthusiastically with a smile. Sherlock hides his shock, looking down at her in secret disbelief. "Mona Doherty, pleased to meet you."

"The pleasure's all mine." Kincain Keating replied, in that same properly clipped Queen's English. Ramona suddenly became painfully aware that her accent was certainly not up to scratch with any of the people surrounding her, and began to feel inferior.

"I'm intrigued, Ramona, are you his first?" Slightly taken aback by the personal question, her eyes widen momentarily, before laughing the surprise off.

"I'm sorry?" She trimmed her accent ever-so-slightly, took on a posture a fraction more elegant. She owed this to Sherlock. Plus, it was funny to decieve annoying people. "Do you mean his first girlfriend?"

"Yes, my dear."

"Oh, well," She gave a giggle. "I'm not sure as to where you got that idea exactly, but I'm certainly not." He raised a brow. "Although I don't know how many Sherlock's had before me, I know I'm not the first, by any means. His ex-girlfriend was an Italian Heiress, but so far that's all I really know about his past relationships." Kincain's face was filled with surprise as he looked up to Sherlock, who was now looking uninterested.

"Really? Well, that's..." His voice trailed, and Ramona tried not to smile at getting her desired reaction of silently surprised awe. "Anyway... they're ready for you, Claudia." His sister nodded with a smile, before walking away.

"I'm sorry, who's ready for her?" Ramona asked.

"We're shooting a reconstruction of the crime, for Crimewatch." Ramona's mouth parted in shock. "Exposure is the key if we're ever going to find Callister, after all."

"Exposure can be counter-productive." Sherlock begins. "I'll get so many false leads it'll be impossible to fathom out the-"

"But it's better than being ignored, isn't it?" He retorts, and Sherlock gives an unbridled glare for a moment, before reigning his emotions in.

"It's going to make our jobs harder, though, that's what he's trying to say." Ramona supports the riled detective.

"Then perhaps you should do your job with a bit more incentive." Kincaid replies, producing his chequebook and a pen from his coat pocket.

"We don't need money to motivate us, Kincaid." Sherlock's tone was as cold as the winter surrounding them.

"Then perhaps you should just do your job." Kincaid said back, in a short tone.

**###########################################**

"'Then perhaps you should just do your job'," Ramona mimicked Kincaid angrily, zipping down her white coat and going over to the radiator of 221B. "Perhaps you should... piss off."

"Brilliant. Why didn't you say that to him, that would've _really_ shown him who's boss." Sherlock replies, buttoning down his coat, sarcasm thick in his tone.

"It's the cold. Makes my brain short circuit."

"As how the heat makes your brain melt?"

"Something like that, yeah." Ramona positions her coat perfectly on the radiator. She then turns, and goes to the kitchen, as Sherlock goes to turn on the fire. "Seriously though," She called, through the rooms. "What a dickhead."

"Italian heiress? Really?"

"It was either that, a Japanese princess or a Russian super-spy. I had to make a decision quickly." At this Sherlock snorts in laughter. Ramona flicks on the kettle and gets out two hot water bottles, one was Sherlock's non-nondescript black, the other hers, covered in brown faux-fur.

"It's supposed to snow like this non-stop for three days."

"Just _wonderful_. Three days of unpaid leave." She complained.

"Oh, don't try to hide it, you're thrilled." Sherlock counters, making her roll her eyes.

"I need the money, Sherlock. Since I died all my money's gone."

"Please, it's not like they're making you pay rent." He refers to Hannah and Harry, the blissfully well off and generous couple. Her eyes widened in realization, and she turned to the dining table, fishing around in her jean pocket for a moment.

Without a word she slammed down £300 in the form of six fifty pound notes onto the table, next to the microscope.

"My half of the rent for this month." She said. Sherlock looked up with a raised brow as her hand dived into her pocket for more. "And a little extra for all the trouble I've caused." Ramona winks at him as she places a further £150 onto the table.

"That's an awful lot of money in cash, Ramona." His tone was careful, suspicious. She turned quickly and her eyes widened in anxiety of him finding out where she had been getting all that money.

"Yes, well, I make an awful lot of money." She reasoned, composing herself again as the kettle boiled.

"It's money that I don't need." He replied.

Ramona was quick to fill two tea-bag filled mugs with hot water, along with the hot water bottles.

"I never said you needed it, Sherlock."

She arrived back in the living room, carrying the hot goods back with her, throwing the black water bottle onto Sherlock's lap, and then handing him the mug.

The flat was warm and cozy, a stark contrast to outside, where snowflakes swirled and the odd person hurried past.

Ramona felt a strange fullness as she took the blanket off the back of the sofa, wrapping herself in it in a cloak-like fashion, and sitting down at the table.

"And wasn't that Claudia women nice? When you see someone so pretty, especially a fashion model, everyone instantly assumes that they're gonna be a moody cow, but really-"

"A cow!" Sherlock jumps up from his seat, eyes wide in realisation. "Of course!" He looked to her, face full of joy.

"Sorry, what?" She asks.

"You brilliant woman!" He cried, gesturing to her energetically. Ramona blushed but frowned.

"What? What is it?"

"A cow!" He repeated, to which she gave him an irritated look. "Don't you see? The weapon- it's what they used to use to kill cows before they were slaughtered."

She blinks once, and then shoots up herself.

"A cattle gun." She grinned. "A cattle gun. That's so specific, we have to have a few suspects!"

"Even better." Sherlock replied. "We have one."

He gave her a grin as he leaned down to the laptop Ramona had been stationed at only moments ago, furiously typing for a moment, before taking a breather, straightening back up and staring at her, his expression akin to a child that wanted his drawing to be praised by a parent, biting his lip for a moment as she turned.

"The Butcher of Cranbeck Village, in the countryside where London ends and Essex begins." He announced, as she read the article. "In 1992 he was sentenced to twenty years for killing four sons and a father of a neighboring farm in an isolated village. With a cattle gun."

"It matches him MO, too." She said, with a growing smile of excitement.

"He got out three years ago." On the archived article there was a mugshot of a young man, sturdily built with a look of horror in his green eyes, as if he couldn't believe what he had just done.

"You know where this village is?" Ramona asked.

"Of course. We can make it in-" Sherlock checked his watch, looked to the window to regard the abysmal weather. "Twenty five minutes, at a push." Ramona smiled.

"We'll need a car." She said. "We can borrow Hannah's Range Rover." Sherlock went to his coat, as did Ramona, who gives a short, false sigh. "And just when I thought we could get a moments tea break."

"No rest for the wicked, Ramona." At this she grinned.

"Thank God for that."

* * *

**These two idiots I swear -_-**

**Although not idiots, at the same time. **

**Thank ya for reading :) Thank you loads more if you leave a review, it means a lot!**


	70. Smile Like You Mean It

**Smile Like You Mean It - The Killers**

**I own nothing but the OC :)**

* * *

"Hannah!" Ramona shouted to the house, pacing into the kitchen, followed closely by Sherlock, surveying the house.

"What?" Hannah sat at the dining table, stroking Jenkins, who was purring loudly.

"We're commandeering your Range Rover." Sherlock says, as Ramona takes the car keys.

"What?" She repeats, standing up in protest. "What are you doing?"

"Taking your car. Need it for... detective work."

"You can't just take my car!"

"Yes we can." Sherlock replied, and Ramona struggled not to laugh as they left, walking back onto the street and closing the door behind them.

Ramona walks to the driver's seat, going to open it.

"Nope." Sherlock says, bumping her off to the side and simultaneously taking the keys from her. She scowled but walked around the expensive 4x4, opening the door, putting one foot onto the stand and then jumping up into it.

When she got in and closed the door Sherlock was already in his seat, keys in the ignition, watching as the car came to life, the touchscreen in the middle of the dashboard displaying the Range Rover logo as it started up.

Sherlock changed gear without a word as Ramona turned up the heating in the car, turning on the heat feature on the seats, and relaxing as her back began to warm.

He reversed expertly, a touch more cautious than usual in the snow, and then pulled out into the basically empty street.

"You know how to drive in snow, don't you?"

"Course I do." He reassured, crinkling his nose slightly as he looked ahead, the windscreen wipers taking away the melted snowflakes from the reinforced glass. She gave him a look, slightly worried, which he could feel without even looking. "Well, I know the theory, but I haven't had any practical experience since now."

"So that's a no, then."

"Unless you'd like to walk, Ramona, I suggest you stop doubting my competence." She rolled her eyes as he smiled.

Complying to his advice she leaned forward in her seat, pressing a few things on the touchscreen so that BBC Radio one was now playing in the car.

"Radio one on the way there, Classical FM on the way back." She reasoned, feeling his attitude towards the radio choice.

"As long as you don't sing along I'm perfectly fine."

"I have the voice of an angel, I'll have you know."

"Who told you that?"

"My mum." She admitted, and they both chuckled.

"This is BBC Radio One with the weather where you are." The woman's voice on the radio begins. "In the last couple of hours London has been hit with a blizzard of epic proportions, a record snowfall since nineteen-eighty-five! The MET Office have issued a warning of chances of another severe blizzard across the south, Okehampton and and Portsmouth being the most affected areas. We're also getting reports of snowfall up to thirty-six inches high, and photos are being tweeted and texted in of some roads filled with snow halfway up lampposts! Send in your pictures to oh-eight-hundred with the word 'weather' in your text, or tweet us at BBCR1. As for the next couple of days we're expecting lows of up to minus seven in London, so be sure to wrap up warm!" It ended with the famous tone, and then the radio presenter started up with cheerfully witless babble.

Ramona looked out of the window, and her eyes widened upon breaking out of the worn down roads of London, into the suburbs, and eventually, into the countryside.

"Jesus." Ramona muttered, observing the twenty inches high snowfall.

"Hopefully they've cleared the roads ahead." Sherlock said. "If not, we-" He stopped suddenly as he turned a corner, and joined onto a long queue of cars.

"Well, fuck." She eventually came out with, as the detective sighed. "Any other routes?"

"No." Was his concise answer.

"What d'you reckon's the hold up?" She asked, pressing a button to make her window roll all the way down, and sticking her head out into the brisk air and the perpetual downfall of snow (that looked as if it would never stop), her eyes widening upon seeing just how long the line of cars was along the narrow country lane.

"Not sure." Sherlock presses the release on his seatbelt. "Let's go find out." He opens to door and gets out. Ramona takes a moment to pull her hood over her head but quickly gets out too. Sherlock joins her on the left-hand side of the cars as they walk towards whatever it was that was keeping them there.

Ramona folds her arms in a desperate attempt to stop shivering, bowing her head, Sherlock rubbing his gloved hands together and occasionally covering his nose and mouth with them, blowing air at them and then shaking them out.

Finally reaching the obstruction, she huffed in irritation.

There was a huge tree that had fallen across the road, a few people in Hi-vis jackets looking at it.

"Excuse me, do you know when this is gonna get moved?" Ramona asks one of the official looking people.

"Crane should be here in around half an hour, Love." He replied, with a smile and a nod.

"Cheers." She returned, turning to walk back to the car.

Getting back inside the car Ramona stared straight ahead for a moment, and then turned to Sherlock, who was also silent.

He looked adorable in the freezing cold, that much was obvious. The way the end of his nose turned a delicate pink in the cold along with the top of his cheeks, his fingertips red and presumably numb or even painful from the chill. His curls were dusted with snowflakes that had yet to melt but were making quick work of it, and she couldn't help noticing-

"Shut up." He ordered, not turning to look at her. Ramona's eyes widened in embarrassment, as if he could tell what she was thinking.

"W-what?"

"I can hear you thinking. It's distracting." At this her humiliation grew, causing her face to flush.

"Either that, or you just can't handle awkward silence." Ramona countered, and at this his eyes narrowed, looking to her now.

"That wasn't awkward. It was comfortable." At this, she laughed.

"No, it was a bit awkward."

"It was, wasn't it?" Sherlock agrees now, causing her to bite her lip in apprehension, before they both laugh.

"It's to be expected, I guess." Ramona says, as he looks away.

"Why's that?" She frowned in light confusion.

"B-because, we, er..." Her voice trailed off, and Ramona felt the growing tension in the car, everything that was unspoken now ringing in their ears.

"As of now we have a mystery to solve. I think it's wise to focus on the task at hand." Sherlock replies, his voice strangely clipped and cold. Ramona swallows, running her tongue over her bottom lip briefly, before nodding, feeling a fool.

"Course, yeah."

There was a minute and and a half of silence that confused and distressed Ramona. What was he thinking? Why could she not tell what he was thinking? At times he was transparent, to her an open book. At other times he was akin to the mysteries he loved to solve, an expression that gave absolutely nothing away apart from knowing that something huge was going on behind his eyes, you could never be sure exactly what until he bragged about it to you later. Her eyes flickered everywhere and eventually rested on a solitary crow sat of a leaf-less branch of an old tree, contrasting black against white for as far as the eye could see, that seemed to be looking straight back at her. Perhaps it was an omen.

The air around them was becoming heavy with all sorts of different presumptions, having an unfinished and unresolved argument, as well as a lot of unresolved sexual tension. It wasn't awkward, but it wasn't comfy, either.

Ramona wanted to say so many things. Everything came to mind, however, nothing came to light. Her tongue felt like an anvil in her mouth that grew heavier with every slow second that ticked by. It was torture, that much was certain.

"Sherlock?" Her voice came out small and soft.

"Mm?" He hummed back, and at that moment it became apparent that he had retreated into the recesses of his mind palace, regardless of whether his eyes were open.

"Do you really think a one-off murderer that only got released from a twenty-year sentence three years ago would murder the best half of a family in the exact same way and then kidnap the kid?"

"Exactly! It doesn't make any sense. Unless he was a total moron, anyway."

"And what sort of moron drugs a family and breaks into a gated community to kill all of them completely undetected?" Sherlock frowned at this, and then, he blinked, blue eyes widening.

"Ohhh." A sudden sound of epiphany from the detective.

"What?" The cars started to move again, the log having been lifted from the road.

"One that has help, Ramona." Sherlock tells her, releasing the handbrake.

**###########################################**

When they finally reached the small village in the middle of nowhere, the Range Rover dutifully fulfilling it's off-road potential, with Sherlock's surprisingly good driving, Ramona was tired. Perhaps it was the cold, or the warmth, or the classical music that Sherlock had switched the radio station to halfway through the drive, regardless of the reason, she felt exhausted.

However, she perked up when she saw the entrance to the farm- if you could call it that.

Moss Hill Farm was an Irish Traveller settlement, 10 acres that was home to around hundred or so families, living in either permanent residences or traditional caravans.

The car turned from the narrow country road inside the settlement, the entrance of which was surrounded with scaffolding, accompanied with walls of leaf-less, snow-covered hedges on either side.

Sherlock slowed the car down as they drove inside, and eventually got deeper inside, until he pulled up neatly outside a permanent residence in the form of a cabin. Getting out in synchronization, the car beeped as it locked automatically, the lights flashing once.

"This is his last recorded place of residence." Sherlock tells her, as they walk up the path to the door, through the snow.

Despite the atrocious weather, a small crowd had started to form around the cabin, watching the pair that they had never seen before as Ramona knocked on the door, trying to pretend that the audience wasn't there.

On the front of the short black driveway there was a girl shoveling snow with a middle-aged man. She must have been around fifteen- although desperately anxious to grow up, by the looks of it- she had long, pretty dark hair and freckles, and sparkling green eyes. Upon her pleasant face was the tell-tale yellow and purple bruising, around one of those cat-like eyes.

Ramona and Sherlock shared a look of recognition, before turning back to her.

"Hello, we're looking for Ryan Donoghue. He in?" Ramona asked the girl, with a polite smile that Sherlock tried to mirror behind her. Ramona did the talking, as it seemed that for some reason people didn't like to talk to detectives when they were being insulted. Strange, that.

"Who are you?" The girl replied, eyeing them both suspiciously, straightening up and leaning on her shovel, picking up on Sherlock's expensive clothes, and the expensive car behind them. "You the council?"

At this point the middle-aged man turned to look at them, straightening up himself. He looked around fourty-three, perhaps fourty-five. He had a body that suggested he was used to physical labour, and a face that suggested he had not aged well. He had a shock of dark hair, and the same shade of green eyes as the girl. Her father, perhaps.

"You his fans?" He asked, equally as cold, as the whispers from the crowd started to grow louder.

"Ryan Donoghue?" Ramona asked.

"I'm Seamus Donoghue. Now, I wont ask again, who are you?"

"DI Lestrade and DC Donovan." Sherlock replied, shifting the man's attention to him, the desired effect. Something flashed in the man's eyes for a moment. "We'd like to ask your brother a few questions." The man shook his head.

"You won't leave him alone, will you?" The detectives frown. "You won't just let him have his peace. He's done his time, what more does he have to do?" The man looked genuinely irritated.

"It's only a couple of routine questions." Sherlock replied, and she could tell he was growing even more impatient.

"Oh, this'll be about those London murders." He shook his head again. "Just leave him to die in peace, won't you?" Ramona tried to conceal the shock that ran through her.

"Die?"

"He's got cancer. Terminal." They let that settle for a moment.

"I'm sorry to hear it." Ramona said.

"Now, if we could have a few words," Ramona's eyes were wide as she looked up at the insensitive consulting detective.

"What Sh- Lestrade is trying to say, is-"

"Tell the townie bastards what happened to your wife, Seamus." A man from the crowd said, now walking from the crowd to join Seamus.

"I don't need to tell them anything about my wife." He replied, calmly.

"What happened to her?" Ramona asked, softly.

"You really want to know?"

"Dad,-" The girl began.

"Shut up, Cassidy." Seamus snapped, and Ramona felt anger clip at her. "Townies set fire to our settlement eleven years ago, she burned alive." This earned another pang of queasiness from Ramona.

"How come you never went after the scum that did that?" The man asked, as another, smaller man came to join them.

"Maybe because eleven years ago I was sixteen." Ramona quipped back, now getting annoyed.

"No need to get smart, bitch." The small man spits. This earns a sudden rise of fury from Sherlock, who has to grit his teeth tightly not to react, instead staring him down.

"What a _creative_ insult." She rolls her eyes, turning back to Seamus. "Look, this doesn't have to be like this. We only want to ask him a few questions."

"You're framing him! That's what you're trynna do!" The first man accuses. "You've gotta nick someone so your superiors'll be off your back!"

"Go fetch my brother, Tad." Seamus requests, calmly, not taking his eyes off Sherlock, who underneath his thin facade he was just waiting for an excuse to hit the small man. "He hasn't got anything to do with those London murders. You've no right to be coming round here to see him."

"I think you'll find we do, actually." Sherlock said.

"Do you know _why _he did what he did, detectives?" Seamus spat.

"No." He replied.

"He loved a girl he shouldn't have, twenty-three years ago. He fell in love with a farmer's daughter, and she loved him back, I believe." Ramona folded her arms in the cold. "They were happy, for a while, sneaking around behind her family's back." She knew where this was going. "Then, the family found out. Her dad, this old farmer, weren't exactly happy that his only daughter were going out with a traveller." Ramona flinched. "They dragged him off one night, down a lane, they were gonna kill him, the sick bastards. He got away, though. He was a big, strong lad, he fought them off. And then, he went back there, and made sure it never happened again. Can you tell me just what he has to do with the murders _now_, detectives?" Ramona tried to hide the shock.

"Does he get any visitors?" Sherlock asks. "Fans, stalkers, obsessives?" Seamus nods.

"It's died down, but we still get the occasional sicko."

"What's the fuss about?" A surprisingly gentle voice from the left, and everyone snapped to look.

There he was, Ryan Donoghue - or, to use his full title, The Butcher- stood before them, six foot and broad, looking around forty, certainly younger than his brother despite the cancer and the long bout of prison, the same shock of dark hair and green eyes.

Now, however, he was not a 'big, strong lad', he was simply a sick, middle aged man. Just looking at him, you could tell that he was ill. His skin was puffy and deathly pale, and Ramona thought for a moment that she would have known it was terminal cancer even if she hadn't have been told beforehand.

"Ryan Donoghue? I'm DC Donovan, this is DI Lestrade. We'd like to have a chat with you, if that's alright." He took one look at them, and then looked to his brother.

"I didn't do anything." He tells his brother.

"It's fine, Ryan." Seamus replied. "They only want a few questions."

"Where were you on the night of January twenty-fourth, Mr Donoghue?" Ryan looked at the pair, and then back to his brother, who sighed.

"Just tell then, Ryan." He said shortly, a streak of irritation and exasperation running through his tone.

"I- I don't know."

"You don't _know_?" Sherlock repeated, incredulous and slightly confused.

"He was here. I can get witnesses." Seamus said.

"Oh, I don't doubt that for a second." Ramona said. "I bet you can get five hundred witnesses."

"What did I tell you about watching your mouth?" the smaller man said.

"I think it was something like 'Don't get smart, bitch'. Or am I mistaken?" Ramona challenged, casting a very dangerous look to the man.

"Ramona." Sherlock muttered, inaudible to everyone but her. She warily took her eyes off the small man. "Have you ever met any member of the Irwin family, Mr Donoghue?"

"He hasn't, for God's sake." Seamus answered for his brother.

"We'd appreciate it if you could _shut up_ for a moment or two so that I could actually talk to your brother." Sherlock's short patience and temper had seemingly snapped, and this only angered Seamus.

"I didn't do it. I was here and I wasn't there and I don't know what you're talking about and I haven't done anything wrong and I don't want to go back to prison!" Ryan was getting panicky now, and Ramona wondered if he was the type to lash out when panicked.

And that was how she knew their time was up.

"Thank you for your time." She said, and they both turned, going back to the car.

"You little whore-"

And that was when Sherlock actually snapped.

There was a rush of action from where he was and suddenly he had the small man by the throat, lifting him into the air - as his victim savagely clawed at his hand and his face - and slammed him against the cabin with such force that she could swear it shook.

Ramona honestly didn't think that Sherlock was aiming for the window, but it still smashed explosively when it connected with the small man's head.

As Sherlock let him drop Ramona brought out a taser she had been keeping tucked in the back of her belt, pointing it at the men that had seen Sherlock's breaking point as a cue to attack.

"Get in the car, Sherlock." Ramona ordered, angry with him. He swallowed, but did as she said, this time walking around to the passenger's side.

She backed up slowly to the car, catching one last glimpse of the small man, thick crimson blood now streaming into his eyes and matting his hair, turning her stomach.

"We'll be in touch."Was the final thing she said, before opening the door to the car and getting in.

**###########################################**

Ramona wasted no time in driving out of the settlement, only adjusting the seat to suit her much smaller height after getting out, and then driving a little slower and more cautiously on the long, winding country lanes.

Finding a little bit of leeway Ramona pulled over and turned to Sherlock, who had been silently staring straight ahead, not uttering a word.

A pang of shock ran through her when she realised he was still shaking with adrenaline, his hands joined and shaking in his lap.

"Well that went well." Ramona said, her voice softer than usual. The trembling detective slowly looked to her, and for a moment it was as if he was shocked.

"I- I wasn't aiming for the window." His voice was wavering, and Sherlock looked so scared at himself she wasn't quite sure what to do. So, she told him what she was thinking.

"I never thought you were."

"I don't know why I did... why I did that."

"Sherlock, you just need to learn to control your temper."

"But that's exactly the problem. I don't _have_ a temper, Ramona!" She frowned.

"Yes you do. Everyone does. I've seen you get angry... a lot of times, more than I want to think about." At this Sherlock only feels even more ashamed of himself, and he closes his eyes, turning to face forward again. Ramona realises how it sounded.

"I rarely get angry. Even on the rare occasion that I do lose my temper, I'm passive aggressive. Control it in quick remarks, channel it into the work. But..." His eyes shift to hers, and he turns to face her again. "When he... when you-"

"You don't have to explain it, Sherlock, it's fine."

"It's not fine. It was unprofessional."

"True, but..." Her voice trails and she looks away from him for a moment, before her eyes flicker back to him, with a sheepish smile. "Thank you for sticking up for me, anyway. I'm not condoning violence, but thank you."

Sherlock bit his lip staring down at her, and his eyes almost seemed to sadden for a moment, before a small smile appeared, one that didn't reach his eyes. Ramona was annoyed with herself that she hadn't gotten through to him.

"You're welcome." He replies, and there's a moment of silence, in which she loses herself in the same stare that she had been trying to find her way out of for years, before blinking and clearing her throat, looking down at his hands.

"He was clawing at you pretty badly, let me see." Sherlock hesitated for a moment, before showing her his hand.

The deep scratches cut into his skin, even drawing blood in some. She took his hand and examined it closer, slightly surprised at how warm his hands were compared to hers.

"Let me see the other side of your face." She ordered. Sherlock was in a surprisingly submissive mood after an act of violent dominance, it would seem, so he complied.

Ramona's eyes widen in surprise and her breath hitches in her throat momentarily, looking at a long scar across the top of his cheekbone, even now it was still bleeding.

And then, looking at the fresh scarlet blood so close, she felt a sudden wave of nausea hit her.

"Jesus, Sherlock, why didn't you tell me?"

"You were a bit busy. With the driving thing."

"The driving thing- Hannah's got a first aid in the boot." She announced, feeling terrible that she had basically ignored him for a few minutes, and pressing a button on the dashboard that made the boot slowly open by itself. "I'll be two minutes." Ramona opened the door and hopped out, closing it behind her.

She wasted no time in quickly retrieving the green box and then going around the car to Sherlock's side. Ramona opened the door and quickly realised that the car - and him - were too tall for her to reach.

Still, she would try, she decided. As soon as she opened the box from where she was standing, Sherlock rolled his eyes.

"Just get up here."

"What?"

"Stop pretending to be so delicate." His voice was short.

"I've never said that I'm delicate."

"Just- sit on my lap, would you?"

"WHAT?"

"The way you're acting you'd think you've never done it before." He muttered, and with this, her face flushed with embarrassment.

"For God's sake Sherlock, would you at least try to be English about it?"

"If it gets infected and I die what will you do? All because you couldn't bare some physical contact with me, you're willing to sacrifice the greatest mind of this generation-"

"I'll do it if you shut up." She huffed as she took the first step, and suddenly Sherlock was silent, half in disbelief that she was actually going to do it.

Firstly today they kissed, then she called him smart and strong (which had not gone unnoticed by the detective), and now lap sitting? This made it a hat-trick, today was a victory, it was-

"Could you put your legs together?" He did as he was told again.

Ramona considered just how badly this could go, but then considered how childish she was being, and awkwardly clambered on top of him. Sherlock got a face-full of hoodie before she sat back onto his legs, staring at him right in the eyes with a flushed face, and Sherlock's face started to fill with a hint of colour.

"There. Happy?"

"Indifferent." He announced.

"God, you're annoying." She shook her head, although her heart was jumping about all over the place. In response, Sherlock turned his head to the right to show her the wound.

"If you insist on grumbling, could you do it after?" Ramona pressed a cotton ball to a bottle of antiseptic, and turned it over for a moment, so that no mess was made."I find it quite difficult to filter you when you're so close."

"You're the one who wanted me close." He sighed quickly and turned his head to argue with her making eye contact, but she quickly pushed his head back to the side. "This'll sting. Hopefully." Sherlock rolled his eyes.

"Must you be so childish?" He flinched and hissed as she pressed the cotton ball damp with antiseptic to his wound, perhaps a tad more firmly than was needed.

"I'm sitting on your lap. All we need now is a fake white beard and you've got yourself one of the most childish situations in existence."

"You're not sitting in my lap. You're straddling me. There's a difference."

"Whatever you want to fantasize about is your business, but please, don't tell me." Ramona took the cotton bud away from his face, as Sherlock turned to her with fire-filled eyes.

"For God's sake, Ramona, we've had sex! Why are you trying to start an argument about this?!" Ramona blinked with wide eyes for a moment.

"You said we weren't going to talk about it."

"That doesn't mean act like it never happened! It's as if we've gone back to square one!"

"Well maybe we should!" She countered, and with this, an expression of hurt flit across his features, before his shoulders slumped and he leaned back.

"What?" Sherlock's brow was creased.

Ramona's mouth was dry now.

"Maybe... we should-"

"I don't understand." He admitted, looking so vulnerable Ramona wanted to cry. Maybe she would, she felt that awful.

"Look, Sherlock... our, _arrangement_ that we had... it was never going to work out, was it?" There was a moment of silence in which Sherlock's expression got even more painful.

"What?" Was all he could think to say, still dumbfounded.

"What was it, two weeks, if that? In the space of that we had a major fall-out, and if it wasn't for this case- Sherlock, if it wasn't for this case then chances are you and I would have never seen each other again. I mean, yeah, it was fun, but-"

"It was _fun_? Is that... is that really- I-I..." His baritone trailed off, and he looked away.

Oh God, was she breaking up with him? She didn't want to break up with him. What she wanted to do was, well, him. If she could say what she really wanted to say right now, how might this end up? How would it end in the long run, though? What she had said before was true- two weeks and it was like a war-zone in the flat. Maybe they weren't - maybe they couldn't have relations like that. What happened if one day they had an argument that couldn't be patched up and glossed over? What then? Her eyes started to fill as he looked back at her.

"You don't have to keep pretending that you're... interested in me like that. I forgive you for manipulating me, so just drop it." He looked back to her, and for a moment the pain in his eyes was immense.

"So that's it? All of, all of that, and you just... you dump me?" A pang run through her.

"I- I'm not dumping you, Sherlock."

"Really, Ramona? Because in my admittedly limited experience, that's what's happening."

"Stop trying to make this harder." She paused. "Please, stop."

"I _can't_ stop, that's exactly the problem!" Ramona frowned as he grabbed her wrist. "How can you- why- weren't you enjoying yourself? Was I not performing in the- in the-"

"That was hardly the issue! You know that the-" Her voice quietened. "That the sex was..."

"Mind-blowing?"

"To be cliche, yes, yes it was."

"Then why would you ever want to stop doing it?"

"Because it's either that, Sherlock, or we stop being being even acquainted in the first place. It's not a risk I'm willing to take just so that I can have guaranteed intercourse every night." Sherlock raised a brow.

"Guaranteed?"

"Oh, you never once said no." Sherlock thought for a second, before allowing it. "Look. I can never give you what you really want, not in the long run."

"Ramona, tell me the real reason." His voice was steady now, but being hooked into his gaze, his eyes were earnest.

"Sherlock-"

"Lie to me again, Ramona, and I _will _find out. And this time, I won't be so forgiving."

She didn't want to lie to him. She never did. But, of course, most of the time she was made to. Ramona thought about it for a moment, weighing it up. The likelihood of him finding out was quite large, and there was nothing in the agreement- well, actually, there was.

_"I don't want to lie to him. Please, don't make me deceive him."_

_"I'm not making you do anything. It is either that, or zero contact with your old life for the rest of your days."_

"I just want to be friends, alright?" Sherlock took a moment. "It was easier when we were just friends, don't you agree?" Ramona was trying desperately not to cry, thankful that he was looking away.

"Yes." Ramona let out a false breath of relief.

"Good, you understand. I think that our friendship's just too good to be spoiled by... by..."

"Why did you tell me what you told me, then?" His voice was quieter than usual.

Ramona's heart ached and she wished she could tell him the real reason, that everything she had said was true. Unfortunately, the world wasn't such a kind place.

"I guess I just sort of meant it in- in a friendly way." Sherlock let out a deep exhale, as if calming himself.

"A friendly way." He repeats.

"Y-yeah. You know, absence makes the heart grow fonder."

"Of course. Obviously." His voice was coming back to normal levels now. "That's only found on the losing side. We... we are not apart of the losing side."

"No, we're not."

_I am. _

"So then why... why did you..."

"You know how my sex drive is, Sherlock. Just, looking for my fill, I suppose."

_I'm lying why can't you see I'm lying please, please realise that this isn't the truth tell me you know what I really think please-_

"Ah."

"Curiosity as well, I suppose." Ramona had to keep telling herself that this was for his sake, for his safety. "Wanted to see what The Great Celibate Detective was like in bed. Trying you on for size." She shrugged. "It really was purely a sexual thing, if I'm being completely honest."

Sherlock's eyes widened for a moment and his mouth parted in shock, before his brow creased.

"I see." Was his only reply.

"At least it was-" The lump in her throat starts to strangle her, and she has to pause for it not to show. "At least it was someone who cares about you."

"You've taught me a very valuable lesson that I foolishly thought I already knew."

"Yeah?" He looks at her, his expression unreadable.

"That sex is seriously over-hyped and nothing but a tedious chore." Ramona tries not to let the hurt show.

_Ouch. That stings. Can't say I don't deserve it, though. _

Ramona looked at him, and sighed.

"Right, well." She looked down to her hands, which were holding a plaster.

She quickly takes off the backing and then aligns it with the angle of the cut, before gently placing it over the wound.

"I'm sorry I pressed the antiseptic down so hard." Ramona murmured, running her thumb over the plaster to make sure it was stuck on acceptably.

**###########################################**

The drive home was, as suspected, silent, and awkward. More than awkward, it was physically uncomfortable.

Now, though, Ramona slowed the car to a stop on Baker Street, the street empty and full of snow.

"See you later." Sherlock said, before exiting the car and walking to the door of 221B, never once looking back. Ramona still watched him all the way, though.

"Yep." She muttered to herself, before speeding up again.

While she was driving back, she pressed a few buttons on the touch-screen of the car, ringing up someone on the hands-free.

"Still open tonight?" Ramona asked.

"Course. Snow doesn't bring _this _side of town to a halt."

"Brilliant. See you soon."

"Laters." With this, she ended the call.

Ramona smirked to herself, as the car stopped at a red light. She would find Callister Irwin whatever it took, and by the looks of things, she would find him soon.

* * *

**The PAIN. Sidenote, Sherlock's a snarky lil bitch.**

**Be prepared for even more angst in the following chapters, too. **

**Thanks for reading :D Even more love for anyone who reviews, I appreciate it tonnes! **


	71. What Went Down

**What Went Down - Foals**

**I own nothing apart from the OC**

* * *

Walking inside Hannah's house at 1am, Ramona was surprised to find a light still on in the living room.

She opened the door to the living room from the long hallway, and found Hannah, asleep on the couch, Jenkins the cat curled up in a ball on her stomach. Ramona smiled warmly, going over to her and gently shaking her away.

"Err- noo, whoo..." Hannah murmured, protesting to being woken up.

"Hannah, it's me." Ramona said, her voice soft and the smile audible.

"Ramona? Ramona!" She cried, sitting up quickly, and looking at her with eyes that had yet to adjust.

"Have you... have you been waiting up for me?"

"Yes." Hannah said, with a pout that showed she was not happy. "Why weren't you replying to my texts?"

"Oh, er- my phone died when I dropped it in the snow, it's still off now."

_Lie number 4065 of the day._

"...Oh."

"Sorry."

"You were worrying me, Ramona. You could have got snowed in inside the car, dying of hypothermia. How was I supposed to know if you were dead or alive?"

"I wouldn't be _that _dramatic."

"Still."

"Oh, this is for the petrol we used today." Ramona places £100 on the table in the form of two £50 notes. Hannah's eyes practically bulge out of her skull.

"Where'd you get that in cash?!"

"Well, there are these things called 'cash-points', where you can put your magic card in, and in exchange-"

"Alright, you sarcastic twat, I get it." Ramona chuckles as her friend gets to her feet, Jenkins jumping off.

"Come on, get up those stairs to bed."

"Will you tell me about what happened today, tomorrow?"

"Um... Yeah."

_I'll tell you a version of it, in which I'm not a lying basta-_

"Cool."

Ramona lay in her bed for hours that night, willing herself to go to sleep. But, for some reason, she couldn't.

Checking her phone for the time now, she saw that the time was 4am. How could it be 4am? There was no possible way that she had been laying in bed for three hours and not fallen asleep.

It was useless, anyway. There was no way she was sleeping tonight, Ramona knew that. She stared at the ceiling and willed for morning to come, just so she could do something.

Then again, she didn't have to wait until morning...

Feeling as restless as she did, Ramona decided to get dressed into black running leggings, trainers, a thermal, t-shirt and hoodie, before putting in her earbuds, and turning on some music.

At the door of the house, she did a few stretches, before going outside, and deciding to run up to Buckingham palace that was half a mile away, and then do at least a couple of laps around St James's Park. It would exhaust her, at least, and then she might be able to get that desperately needed sleep.

Even after this, though, panting with her hands resting on her knees in the dark, freezing and numb at the same time from the biting cold after doing three laps of the 23 hectare park, she wasn't satisfied.

**###########################################**

After getting back home and having a ridiculously long shower for her already aching muscles, Ramona powered up her laptop in the kitchen at the dining table, the sun only just rising now.

She had gotten the same email that work would be closed - which was brilliant and very convenient news - as she had a lot of much more important things to do.

Scrolling down the missing children list online, she wondered briefly if she had become obsessed with finding Callister. In his missing picture he was smiling, just as they all are, unaware to the fact that a usually grim future awaits them, as well as a short one.

Perhaps it was his likeness to Paddy which meant she just couldn't get him out of her head, but he was all she really thought about, since she had seen his picture.

And now, making a list of all the children that had gone missing in London in the last six months, it was obvious that he was a one of, an anomaly. All of the children came from places like Brixton and West Croydon, but never somewhere like Primrose Hill. Seeing all the publicity that his disappearance had generated, Ramona didn't have to guess why.

However, it was obvious that the other kid's disappearances were connected. The police were overlooking something huge, and she briefly wondered if they were being paid to keep silent. It wouldn't be the first time a scandal of this nature had occurred in England's official infrastructure, especially ones involving kids. Why was it always the kids?

She crossed out of the tab and went to her emails, where she had just received one. Ramona smirked upon seeing the sender.

Opening up the attached file, it became apparent that it was Mike Irwin's historic bank statements that Lestrade had sent to her on the sly, leaving a trail of basically everywhere he had been in the last ten years.

She sent a quick reply to thank him, and then set to work, putting on her financial forensics hat and searching for anything substantial, perhaps a suspicious pattern.

And then, she found both of those things.

£300 was being paid out every week, sometimes even twice a week, to a shady-looking company under the name of Clavel.

Also, there was the huge, one off payment of £19,750,000 to Harrison Webster Properties LTD, dating back to early 2012.

Raising her eyebrow, she goes onto the Property company's website, and after getting their phone number, rings them up.

"Harrison Webster Properties, Roberta speaking, how may I assist you today?"

"Hello, Roberta, I'm DC Donovan from Scotland Yard, I was wondering if I could have a chat with you about your company's historical sales?"

"From Scotland Yard?" Ramona struggled not to roll her eyes, drumming her fingers impatiently on the desk as she put her feet up on it.

"Yes, Scotland Yard. If you need further confirmation of my identity I could come round in person."

"No, it's not that, Detective, it's just that... one of your colleagues came to us not ten minutes ago to ask about the exact same thing." Ramona gritted her teeth, silently mouthing a swear.

"Oh. What was their name?"

"I think it was DC... Lestrade."

"What did he look like?"

"He was wearing a long coat, black curly hair, he was charming at first... but he got quite impatient."

"Yes, that sounds _exactly_ like my colleague." There was a pause. "He's a bit of a... maverick down at the station, he rarely briefs us and dives straight into things instead. Could you tell me what you told him about Mike Irwin, please?"

"Oh, um, yes, of course." Ramona could really get used to this official detective business, there was nothing that people wouldn't tell you, and all you needed was a badge and an authoritative sounding voice. "We did business with Mike Irwin three years ago, he bought a penthouse in Southwark, on Holland Street."

"For nineteen-million-seven-hundred-and-fifty-thousand pounds?"

"Yep, that's the one."

"So that's Holland Street, Southwark, on the Thames, yeah?"

"That's right."

"You've been a great help, thank you."

"No problem, Detective."

With this Ramona ended the call, getting dressed and quickly setting off.

Pulling up outside the high-rise in Hannah's car, Ramona felt a sinking feeling at the fact the lights were on in the penthouse.

However she didn't let it stop her, taking the lift all the way up to the fourteenth floor, where the penthouse took up the entire floor.

The doors opened, and for a moment, Ramona felt wooed just by the apartment.

The walls to the left and right slanted inwards to form a triangle and were completely glass, there were rooms under these slanting walls, and then there was a rectangular building running through the middle, separating the rooms, that were two floors of bedrooms and bathrooms.

Not seeing anyone, Ramona walked through the airy, modern kitchen, to the slanting glass, and then opened the door, which was strangely placed on angled glass, but still managed to swing inwards.

Ramona stepped onto the balcony, instantly awed by the view. She was clutching a to-go cup of the strongest coffee that had probably ever existed in her left hand, in an attempt to wake up, despite not having slept a wink in the last two days.

There was a panoramic view of London, all covered in a thick blanket of snow, as it continued to fall. She could see The Shard sticking up into the cloudy sky to the far right, then London Bridge, after that there was Shakespeare's Globe Theatre, Southwark bridge and then the Millennium bridge was visible over the half-frozen Thames, and over the iconic river the dome of St Paul's could be seen, finally there was Blackfriars Bridge just the the left. You could say what you wanted about London, Ramona decided, but it had one of the best sunrises in the world, if you got up high enough.

"Beautiful, isn't it?" Sherlock's voice from behind her. Ramona turns to see the detective approaching her. She watches as he stands beside her, surveying the view, and she turns back out to watch as the city woke up all at once.

"It's London. Of course it is." She replies, causing Sherlock to smile. She turns to lean back on the bar of the glass perimeter of the balcony. "Now _this _is a penthouse." Sherlock leans down to rest his forearms on the bar next to her, and speaks to her without taking his eyes off the city.

"You like it?"

"You don't?"

"It's a bit too modern for my tastes."

"Oh, you like your habitat to be dusty and bookish, I forgot for a second." Sherlock chuckles. "Aren't you a bit jealous that this Mike Irwin has a cooler bolthole than you?"

"Ah, I think you're forgetting that _I_ have behind the clock-face of Big Ben." Ramona laughed.

"Are you... looking for an apartment of your own?" Ramona frowns, turning to him, faces now dangerously close.

"Why would I do that?" Sherlock's expression turns to one of confusion for a moment, studying her face, before turning away.

"No reason. Just thought you might have been." There was a moment of silence in which the cold got to both of them, and as they speak clouds form in between them.

"Look, Sherlock, I-"

"Hello?" A new voice now, a woman's.

The detectives both turn to the source, to see a woman standing by the lift that had supposedly just arrived. She was pretty and short, with delicate features, blonde hair that had too many shades to be believed, blue eyes. She wore a tan trench coat buttoned and tied at the waist, and Christian Loubotin shoes with the famous scarlet soles.

"Hello." He replied, with a small false smile. The woman turned to Ramona, and smiled as she stared back.

The pair step aside as she walks further into the flat, surveying it with silent awe.

"This is such a cool place. That view's amazing!" She had a posh accent, but Ramona could tell a bit of it was put on.

"Thank you. I bought it three years ago."

"It must have cost a fortune."

"It did. But it was definitely worth it." Sherlock had a way of lying that was so expert, Ramona had to think about whether he had actually bought the penthouse three years ago.

"Have you lived in the area long?" She asks.

Sherlock thought about it for a moment.

"For years."

But by then she was already making herself at home in the bathroom, the detectives heard the tap running.

"Does she not know... has she got the wrong flat or something?" Ramona hissed to Sherlock.

"How could you get the wrong _penthouse_, Ramona?" She scowled at him.

"Why is she-"

"Sir?" Her voice again, and they snap to look at her.

She was wearing her black and red high heels - and nothing else.

Ramona averts her gaze awkwardly, as Sherlock frowns at the now very naked woman, approaching them with a shy smile.

"And would you prefer to watch me and her first or start with you, Mr Irwin?" She asked.

**###########################################**

They had driven all the way to Chinatown from Southwark.

Ramona parked the car and the three of them got out.

The woman sniffled beside her as they walked down the already bustling street.

"You don't have to be upset, Charlotte." Ramona tried to comfort the distraught prostitute, admittedly a first for her. "You've done nothing wrong, you don't have to be afraid of us."

"I know." She replied, rubbing her nose with the back on her hand. "It's not you I'm afraid of."

"So you were a dancer?" Sherlock asked Charlotte, as they continued to walk.

"Yes. How did you know that?"

"Your thighs. Your abs. And your-"

"That's quite enough, thank you." Ramona interrupted, deciding she definitely didn't like that Sherlock had been looking at her body so closely. "We get the picture." Sherlock smirked as they walked.

Charlotte suddenly stopped outside a nondescript looking door in between a medicine shop and a restaurant, the smell of roast duck drifting from the door and making Ramona's mouth water. Charlotte put a six-digit code into the box next to the door and it beeped, before she led them both inside.

The detectives walked up a narrow flight of stairs, Ramona trailing after Sherlock.

Outside a door at the end of the hallway, a young man did a double take as he spotted the pair behind Charlotte.

"Who are these, Charlotte?" She was silent for a moment, and that told him all he needed to know. The man approached Sherlock. "What're you doing here?" He glanced down to Ramona, and then put a hand on Sherlock's chest. "You and your lady friend looking for trouble, are you?"

Sherlock smiled that wide, horribly false pleasant smile.

"I am the trouble."

The young man was smart enough to step aside. Despite her efforts, Ramona felt her knees go weak for just a moment.

Sherlock walked past him, and opened the door at the end of the hallway.

As Ramona followed, she also entered the medium sized room, that looked like an office for one person only.

Behind a huge iMac on a black glass desk sat a woman, wearing glasses with fashionable black frames, slender tanned legs crossed. The woman blinked once as she looked at Sherlock, and Ramona saw that it was a blink of recognition.

"Sherlock Holmes?" Her voice had a lace of Spanish to it, and Ramona saw in one instant that everything about her was elegant. "Well, this is a pleasant surprise."

"Oh, the pleasure's all mine." He replies, and for a moment the two stare at each other.

"I'm sure that everyone's feeling just _brilliant_ right now." Ramona quips, and they both look at her.

"You're the owner of Clavel Ltd?"

"Yes." She replies, looking at her with a guarded expression.

"What's your name?" Ramona asks.

"Clarisa Romero."

"What sort of business are you running here, Miss Romero?" Sherlock asks.

"Clavel is a social introduction agency." Ramona tries not to laugh.

"So that's what they're calling it these days." She muses. "Call off your ten-a-penny tough guy and Charlotte, would you?"

Clarisa dismissed them with a wave, and off they went, closing the door behind them. There was one seat on the other side of her desk, which Sherlock took, joining his hands.

"I assume that I won't find your business online." Sherlock said. "It'd have to be strictly word-of-mouth and personal recommendations only, to avoid arousing suspicion and gaining unwanted attention. Am I correct?"

"You are." She replies. It was obvious that she was slightly nervous, however it seemed that there was a strange hint of defiance in her nonchalant tone.

"You know, it's funny how the law tackles prostitution in this country." Ramona started. "Although nothing happens to the actual prostitutes, although the system seems to set examples of solicitors. Speaking from experience, I've seen one of my colleagues put away someone just like you for three years, just last week."

Ramona was in a foul mood, for some reason. Perhaps it was the complete lack of sleep and the stress, but her nerves were fraying dangerously close to falling apart entirely. Clarisa waited for a moment, watching her carefully.

"We're not police, so we're not going to bust you."

"Thank you."

Suddenly Ramona had her hands on the desk, staring down the woman.

"But if you slow my pace on finding a missing child and a murderer for just one _second,_ you have my word that I will personally make sure that the law comes down on you like a tonne of bricks." She snarled. "Is that _clear_?"

"Crystal." Ramona takes a moment to stare at the woman, and then straightens back up.

"Tell me everything you know about Mike Irwin." She commanded.

"Mr Irwin was one of my most regular and prized customers."

"How regular?" Sherlock asked.

"Once a week for three years. Twice a week, sometimes." Ramona swallowed. "He never had the same girl more than twice."

"You have hundreds of girls on your system?" She asked.

"Oh, no, nowhere near that number." Clarisa reassured them. "But, the girls tend to come and go. Get married, go home, go back to school, reevaluate their life. There's always a steady flow of new faces."

"How long do his bookings usually last?"

"Three hours, at the longest. They never stayed the night." She took a moment. "Mr Irwin had to get home." Ramona felt a creeping disgust at the whole thing.

"What were his tastes? Did you choose, or did he?"

"I chose for him. He trusted my judgement, and he was a very busy man." Clarisa thought about the question for a moment. "He liked young, blonde-haired and blue-eyed girls. Non-smoking, if possible, although I doubt he checked."

"So, what, younger models of his wife?"

"That's usually what married men want. What they're attracted to."

"How sweet of him." She remarked, and a smirk twitched at Sherlock's mouth.

"And he didn't want the same girl more than twice in case of attachment?" He asked.

"That's my theory, yes." Clarisa replied.

"And how did you first meet Mr Irwin?"

"The bar in Claridges."

"Ah." Ramona said. "So instead of hooking in rich men over the internet, you prefer to do it face-to-face in posh bars?"

"That's a very base way of putting it, detective."

"You sleep with him?" She asks.

"No," Clarisa shakes her head. "I met him four times. The rest of the communications are done by text message. On our last meeting I convinced Mr Irwin that an affair wasn't really what he needed. Not with someone he liked. Affairs, detectives, ruin lives. They ruin marriages, and the worst part is, most of the time they aren't even that enjoyable. My company provides a safer, healthy alternative to an affair. Mr Irwin was not only a cherished customer, he was also a decent, upstanding man." Her eyes seemed far away for a moment. "And it truly breaks my heart to know he is dead." Ramona bit her lip. "He was a good man, detectives. And despite everything that they are given in life, the men I do business with are not always good."

**###########################################**

"Even the cookie-cutter family has their secrets, eh?" Ramona says, driving back to 221B, Sherlock in the passenger seat.

"Every family has secrets, Ramona. But this one might have gotten them killed."

"Still, we don't have any actual leads, do we? Apart from the hundreds of prostitutes and the dying ex-murderer."

"I'll find something. There must be something I'm missing."

"There's no 'I' in team, Sherlock."

"That's convenient then, considering we're not a team."

"Cheers." She shakes her head, briefly glancing from the road to Sherlock. "Let's just review, shall we? We know that the husband had a twenty-million pound bolthole in Southwark where he used to... de-stress, let's say, every week, although he never even spent the night there. We have hundreds of false leads concerning the missing kid, which, let's face it, is probably at the bottom of the Thames as we speak, and to top it off, we've got another missing five-year-old taken from Brixton this morning."

"That doesn't have anything to do with us, or the case." Sherlock dismissed. Ramona's eyes widened in outrage, as she pulled up to a stop outside 221B Baker Street.

"It doesn't mean we shouldn't at least look into it." She countered, turning to him in her seat.

"Children go missing every day, Ramona. It's nothing out of the ordinary. Boring."

"Jesus, Sherlock." She was horrified.

"Surely you aren't surprised. You know me well enough to know that I'm not interested in-"

"It doesn't matter what you are and aren't interested in, Sherlock. For once, it doesn't matter how you are, how you're feeling, if you're up to it today. What matters is a child's life. An innocent kid that'd never hurt a fly, and you won't look into it because it's not _interesting _enough?"

"Since when did you start playing Good Samaritan?" Sherlock asked, staring at her in slight surprise. She didn't rise to it.

"Do you understand what you could do with all that brain power? All the people you could help? You could make the world a _better_ place, Sherlock. In the end, isn't that all that matters?"

"Why do you insist on thinking that I'm a good man, Ramona?" He asks, and silence fills the car for a moment.

"Because you are, Sherlock. I know you are." He shakes his head slightly, turning away. "You can forget about the missing kid right now, and I won't hold it against you." He frowned lightly. "But I might change my mind."

Sherlock thinks about this for a few seconds.

"Fine. But don't delude yourself about what I am, Ramona." His tone was warning. "To put it into somebody else's words, I don't feel things the way you do."

"Yeah, yeah, you're viciously terrifying and a force of nature to be reckoned with." She grinned at him teasingly, and Sherlock felt something in his chest skip off beat, blinking at her. "You're a blessing in disguise, Sherlock." Ramona said, pressing the release on her seatbelt.

**###########################################**

Ramona and Sherlock had spent around two hours looking into the missing child, one Louis Macintyre of Brixton, and found nothing apart from possible places he could have been taken from, along with times. It was a start, at least.

Now, she stood in the kitchen of 221B, watching the water boil in the glass kettle. Or, more to the point, she was dead on her feet, staring into space.

"Isn't that your fifth cup of coffee today, Ramona?" Sherlock stands in the kitchen behind her, looking for something to eat.

There wasn't a lot in the fridge now that Ramona had sort-of moved out, so it was lean pickings for the detective, that decided he was better off with nothing. He closed the fridge door with his foot as he turned to her.

"Yeah. I suppose I've taken to it all of a sudden." She lied.

"You'll give yourself an early heart attack."

"Says you."

"Says I." He confirms, and as he studies her face an expression of concern grows on his own.

"Anyway," She starts. "How'd you feel about tracing, locating and interviewing a hundred or so escort girls?"

"Thrilled."

"Never know, might spice up your social life." They both laugh, and a slightly dopey smile lingers on Ramona face, as she blinks once, trying to get the haze out of her vision. Sherlock picks up on this immediately.

"How long have you gone without sleep?" Ramona gives a faux frown of confusion, looking away and back to the kettle.

"What do you mean? I slept all through last night." She assured, and Sherlock rolled his eyes.

"I'd hazard a guess at forty-eight hours."

Ramona closes her eyes, deciding not to lie about it.

"You can just say two days, you know." Sherlock sighs in exasperation.

"Look at me." He orders, and she does as he says. His eyes roam over her features for a moment. "Get some sleep. Use the bedroom." He gestures down the hallway with his head.

"I'm fine, actually. Prefer it this way."

"I'm not asking."

"This is why we fall out, Sherlock. How many times do I have to tell you-"

"It's for your own good. I won't be seen with someone who collapses from exhaustion at crime scenes."

"Well that's fine, because I won't do that."

"Have you been working throughout the night?" He asks.

"Sort of. Only because I can't get to sleep."

"Oh. Is this your first bout of insomnia?"

"Insomnia?!" She turns to him, shocked. "Let's not go throwing words like that around, Drama Queen." Sherlock showed that hilarious face of outrage, but didn't rise to it.

"It's a minor case, but we should be able to nip it in the bud. I have a couple of Valium somewhere-"

"You've got Valium?!"

"Yes." Sherlock frowned in confusion. "Problem?"

"You can't- you can't have hard, addictive drugs in your possession."

"I only use them when I need to sleep."

"Still. You _know_ you've got an addictive personality."

"Addictive personality? I don't have an addictive personality."

"Says the smoker that 'quit' and got addicted to nicotine patches, the drug addicts that 'solves crimes as an alternative to getting high'. Your own words, Sherlock."

He stared at her, and for a moment there was something a flash in his eyes that felt like unbridled rage.

"You're impossible." He sighed, looking away. "I give up."

"Quite right I am." She agreed, giving a small smile that didn't reach her eyes.

The truth was was that she would love to sleep right now. But she couldn't. And Ramona refused to lie in bed for hours in vain, tossing and turning and staring at the ceiling wondering _why _she couldn't get any rest. But, deep down she knew why.

Something was haunting her. Someone, rather. To be specific, it was a little boy by the name of Callister Irwin, with a striking resemblance to-

"OH MY GOD!"

Sherlock flinched at the noise, spinning round to look at her with blue eyes wide in surprise.

"Oh my God, Oh my G-"

"Ramona, slow down."

"Sherlock! I've possibly just realised something amazing."

"Do enlighten me."

"Who does Callister remind you of?" He frowns.

"I'm sorry?"

"The missing kid. Who does he remind you of?" She asks. Sherlock thinks about this for a moment, before frowning harder.

"No one."

Ramona takes a moment, before huffing, pacing over to the wall of the living room, ripping the child's photograph off, and quickly walking back to him, shoving the photo in his face.

"Look at him!"

"I don't have much choice." He muttered, causing her to roll her eyes. She looked at it herself, and then her eyes shifted to Sherlock.

"Can you really not see it?"

"See what, exactly?"

"It's... it's..." Maybe it was the sleep deprivation. Perhaps she was losing the plot. Some people, after they hit the fifty-hour mark, start to hallucinate. Maybe that's what was happening. "It's Paddy! Can't you see?"

Sherlock stared at her for thirty seconds, completely silent, before taking the photograph for himself, looking at it long and hard.

"No. Nothing." He admits, giving it back to her.

She felt deflated, slightly embarrassed and worried she might actually be going a tiny bit mad. Wasn't she already a tiny bit mad, though?

"Ramona, it's obvious that you're suffering the effects of sleep-deprivation. Your mind suffers, you know. It's a fast track pass to psychosis. Go to bed and I'll carry on with this." Real concern was showing now, and she wondered if he was right.

"I can't, though. That's the problem. I physically _can't_ fall asleep."

"Would you like for me to drug you?"

Ramona sighed, realising that for him, this was a fairly normal request. Plus, it was actually quite polite. He was making progress.

"No, no. It's giving me an edge, I think."

"The only thing it's giving you is dark circles under your eyes."

"Oi!"

"Sorry." There's a moment of silence, and then they both chuckle.

"Anyway," She started. The sun was starting to set, and she needed to get to work. Better get there quickly, hopefully catch some of the much-needed leads. "I'll be off."

"Where are you going?"

"Back to Hannah's." She lied.

"Alright. See you later." He smiled.

"Bye-bye."

**###########################################**

Sherlock being Sherlock, he followed Ramona.

If she honestly thought he was going to believe_ that_ pathetically lame excuse, then the sleep deprivation really was getting to her.

Following her, though, was a different beast altogether. She was hard to tail because she was constantly on her guard, which he actually was happy about, he just wished she wouldn't be when he was stalki- following her. He didn't really see the irony in that particular sentiment.

She turned a corner, and he waited for a few moments before turning it too.

And then, he got the surprise of a lifetime.

He watched as she entered a lap-dancing club in utter shock-horror.

Sherlock tried to catch up with her to confront her, but it was already too late. She had gone in, and now he was going to have to, too.

Mycroft was going to just love teasing him about this. The detective glared at a security camera blatantly following him as passed the security guard outside. He went in, swallowing his pride.

Inside, it was dark, and not exactly pleasant. It was basically just a nightclub with half naked women everywhere, along with gaping men who couldn't seem to pick their jaws up off the floor.

So, exactly like a nightclub, Sherlock supposed.

Looking around for her, he was instantly hit with a half-naked woman.

"Hello Sir. Would you like for me to take your coat?"

"No thank you." Sherlock replied quickly, not looking at the girl, instead walking straight past her, deeper into his own personal hell, all to find out just what the hell Ramona was going in a place like this for.

He quickly swiveled back round to the girl, and didn't dare take his eyes off her face.

"Actually, I'm looking for someone."

"I'm sorry?"

"Ramona's her name. Does she work here?"

"Are you gonna be any trouble, Sir?" The security guard asked him. Sherlock looked up to the burly man as he approached him.

"None at all. I'm just looking for a certain girl."

"We don't have anyone called Ramona here."

"What? I just saw her come in- oh, she's using a fake name. Clever girl."

"Are you drunk, Sir?" The girl asks.

"Drunk? Are you a moron? I'm stone cold sober." He thought for a moment. "Now, what would she use... Is there a Mary here?"

"My name's Mary."

"Oh, of course it is. No, I'm looking for... She's five foot two," He puts his hand at her height. "Blonde hair down to just below her shoulder blades, blue eyes, a few freckles but not too many, bit of a wonky nose but it's not really an issue, always seems slightly angry, sarcastic comment for anything and everything."

"Umm, actually-" She looks around, and Sherlock smirked, knowing he had gotten through to her. "She works behind the bar."

The girl led him over to the bar at the left, which was empty.

"Hmm, that's strange. She was here just a moment ago. Maybe she's gone to the loo?"

Sherlock looked over the bar, to see Ramona, crouching behind the bar in an obvious attempt to hide from him.

"Oh, fancy bumping into you here!" Her jaw drops, expression akin to a victim being found by a serial killer in a slasher film. "It's a small world, isn't it?" Sherlock grins at her, and tries not to laugh at her horrified expression. She really had underestimated just how obsessive he was.

"Uh, I was just picking up..." Ramona straightens up, and despite the lighting, he knew her face was flushed in embarrassment. Sherlock sat at the bar casually. "What are you doing here, Sherlock?" She muttered.

"Just passing through. This is actually my ninth bolthole." He said. "I know times are tough, Ramona, but surely you don't need to-"

"My name is Ciara, Sherlock." He stares at her for a moment, trying not to laugh.

"Please tell me you haven't given anyone a-"

"Of course I haven't given anyone a bloody lap-dance, for God's sake!" He didn't think he had ever seen her so utterly distraught. "You can't tell _anyone_ about this."

"I don't understand why you're here, if I'm perfectly honest."

"I could ask you the same thing!"

"You first, though." She sighed, leaning over the counter to speak to him. Sherlock tried to avert his eyes from her cleavage and failed miserably. Ramona slapped his head to the side. "You can't hit a customer!"

"You shouldn't ogle me, then."

"Oh, and all the other men are here for the stimulating conversation?"

"That's _very_ witty, Sherlock." Sarcasm was thick in her tone. "Listen, I've been looking into those kid disappearances. They're connected, I can feel it. So, how'd you find sex offenders and kiddy-snatchers? You get into the shallow end of the sex industry, dig around a bit, and eventually you'll see someone from the deep end."

"That was a positively awful metaphor."

"I know." She admitted.

"Although, I must say I'm impressed by your dedication. I've taught you well." Ramona rolled her eyes.

"I've been working the bar part-time, I've not had to do anything worse than wear something vaguely resembling a top and a pair of shorts."

"Come across anything interesting yet?"

"Apparently that guy over there has been coming in every day for ten years. That's pretty interesting, considering- oh, you mean about the case. Not yet, but something should be coming along pretty soon."

"How soon? Because now I'm going to have to come down here every night that you do, and frankly I have better things to do with my time."

"Why would you have to-" She shook her head in exasperation. "Shouldn't be more then - what - a week?"

"Alright."

"Oh, I'll tell you something interesting. These girls - the ones actually dancing - they make more money than me. Can you believe that? And they only work _four_ hours a day." At this, Sherlock gives her a disbelieving look.

"Really? you're actually considering taking your clothes off as a viable career path?"

Of course not! It's just interesting, don't you think? The amount of money that men are willing to literally throw away to get themselves all worked up, and then not even get - y'know, taken care of. I just don't understand the appeal."

"Neither do I." He admits.

"The sex industry is fascinating, Sherlock, really. I feel like Louis Theroux." Sherlock laughed at this. "I might write a book under a pseudonym or something. Make a documentary. People secretly like learning about stuff like this, don't they? The more perverted the better-"

It was at this point a girl burst into the strip club, utterly distraught, crying her eyes out.

She runs straight to Ramona, into her arms.

The girl obviously had to be at least nineteen, which was scarily young to be in her particular line of work.

"What's wrong? Emily?" She stares up at her in complete shock. Despite being nearly ten years younger, the girl was taller than Ramona, as most people are.

"It was so wrong, Ciara. It was- it was-"

"Just slow down, alright?" Ramona shot a look to Sherlock, who watched carefully. "Tell me what happened."

"It- it- they've got _kids_, Ciara. Kids. It was so bad-" She bursts into loud tears again.

Ramona catches the security guard staring daggers at them, the sound of a girl crying bringing the 'sexy' vibe of the entire club down to a record low.

"Come on, we'll go into the back room." She gestured for Sherlock to follow as she walked to the side, still holding the girl, and he did as instructed, subtly ducking under the door bit of the bar and then walking into the back room. It was frighteningly easy.

Ramona pulls up three chairs in the white washed room, which contained green lockers for the girls to get changed, and that was about it.

In the normal light of the back room, it was obvious now just how young the girl looked. Although Ramona knew for a fact she was nineteen, Emily's face didn't look a day over eighteen.

"W-who's this?" The girl asked, looking to Sherlock like a rabbit in the headlights.

"This is Sh- this is Greg Lestrade." Sherlock thanked her with a look and also tried not to laugh as he sat down next to her. Masquerading as Lestrade really never would get old. "He's a detective." Sherlock gave a falsely kind smile. The girl's eyes widen in fear, but Ramona puts her hand on hers reassuringly. "He's a friend, don't worry. He won't get you in trouble, I promise."

"Actually, I was going to call the police anyway." This was it. This was the tip off she had been waiting for. Ramona tried not to show her giddiness at the thought of putting away scum tonight.

"Tell us what happened, Love. In your own time." She says, and smiles genuinely.

"Although quite quickly." Sherlock adds, causing Ramona to shoot him a glare.

"Well, I was dancing, and my shift ended. I had had a private session with this guy, and he waited for my shift to end outside. When I got out, he asked me if I wanted to go to a party. He- he's quite good-looking, and I fancied him, so I thought, why not? What's the harm? So I said yeah, and he took me to this, this big mansion."

"Big mansion?"

"It was one of those dilapidated ones. You know, one of the ones that rich people let fall apart. I started to get weird vibes, but... I don't know, I guess I was curious. He took me to the party, and there were lots of men there."

"You said something about... about kids." Ramona said, already feeling sick to her stomach. At this, the girl started to tear up again.

"I heard kids crying- in- in the other room." And then, anger started seep into her. "The men told Jackson that they didn't want me there. Jackson gave me £250 for my trouble, and sent me on my way."

Ramona frowned.

"Why did they kick you out?" She asked gently.

"I'm too old." Sherlock tensed his jaw, now feeling furious.

"And where would I find Jackson, Emily?" He asked.

**###########################################**

Looking around the pub, Ramona was slightly disheartened to not see anyone fitting the description. She had gotten dressed now, into black skinny jeans, black boots, a white button-up shirt and her leather jacket.

"There." Sherlock said, pointing to the men's bathroom door, which was now swinging shut.

They made their way to the bathroom, which was thankfully empty, apart from the man, who was washing his hands in the sink.

The physical effects of chemical castration were clear on him. He was chubby, and his brown hair was starting to thin.

It turned out Jackson was a known offender. He had only ever done for one offence back in the early 2000's, but that was still one offence too many for her tastes.

Ramona had to struggle not to attack him straight away, feeling her blood boil, watching him slowly wash his hands.

"Any parties tonight, Jackson?" She asks, unhinged venom in her tone. He seems to stiffen for a moment, chancing a daring glance at her.

"You're not supposed to be in here." He said, referring to the fact they were in a male's toilets.

"Gender's an abstract concept, my friend." Ramona replied, taking a few more steps towards him.

"Is it?" He asked, completely defiant to her obvious anger, not looking up from his hands. He was nervous, she could tell. Ramona could practically feel the fear radiating off him, and she was happy about it.

"Can you tell me what they do to people like you in prison, Jackson?" She asks, as Sherlock watches. He was trying to let her do what she was best at, which was intimidating people, despite her size and stature. The fact of the matter was, she was scary, and she got the job done.

"Depends how much time you've got." Ramona laughed, but it had a harsh edge to it.

"More than you, mate."

Jackson moved to dry his hands. He was large, and despite his chub, Sherlock could tell he was strong. That was the reason he was watching him closely, waiting for any kind of movement that was too quick.

"So, come on. We're looking for a party. Aren't you going to take us?"

This time, it was Jackson's turn to laugh.

"Sorry, but I'm not taking you anywhere."

"Oh, sorry, it was a rhetorical question." Ramona laughs pleasantly. "Morons tend not to recognize them."

Ramona felt more angry than usual. If she was being completely honest, she sort of wanted him to force her hand.

"Listen lady, you're not getting anything from me."

"Wrong answer, Jackson. You get three tries before I start to get impatient."

"Look, you're intimidating, I get it, I really do. Unfortunately, there are people a hell of a lot more scary than you out there." Ramona laughed.

"I'd like to meet them."

"No, you wouldn't. Have you ever seen what acid does to someones face?"

"Once or twice. Is that how they keep peoples mouths shut? Burning peoples faces off?"

"Yeah. You can do anything you want to me, lock me up for a few years, I don't care. But I'm not telling you nothing."

"So you're telling us something, then." Sherlock pipes up.

"No, I-"

"Then you say 'I'm not telling you anything'. Not nothing, that's a double negative."

Jackson narrows his eyes disbelievingly at Sherlock, before looking to Ramona.

"Is he an English teacher or a detective?" Ramona shrugged.

"He dabbles. Now, I'll give you one last chance, before this starts to get tedious. Where are the parties, Jackson?"

He took one look at her, and laughed.

"Go ahead, arrest me." He held out his wrists.

"Sherlock, make sure no one comes inside." Ramona said, a hint of humour in her voice gone. "Oh, and could you call Lestrade? Have them meet us here, we'll have the address in ten minutes."

"You can take me in, I don't care. Jail is nothing compared to those guys."

"Arrest you?" Ramona laughed. "I'm not going to arrest you, don't worry. I'm just going to beat the living daylights out of you."

Jackson's face fell.

"What?" He blinked. "You can't do that. That's police brutality!"

Ramona was laughing genuinely now.

She took off her constricting leather jacket, throwing it back to Sherlock, who caught it easily.

"Police? Who said anything about police?"

**###########################################**

"The Beamer." Ramona instructed Jackson, pointing to the unmarked police car that Lestrade and Donovan were sat in, waiting for them.

Jackson did as he was told, limping as he walked to the car, and opened the back door, sliding all the way in. Then Ramona got in next to him, and following was Sherlock.

"Finally." Sally said, sat in the passenger seat. "What was taking you so long?"

"Sophisticated interrogation takes time, Sally." Ramona replies, and Sherlock has to purse his lips not to laugh.

"Who's this?" Lestrade asks.

"Jackson." Sherlock replies. "He doesn't know the address, but he can show us the way. Can't you?"

"Yeah." He mumbled.

"We're going to need some extra manpower for this." Donovan says. "With any luck, we might have stumbled across something big."

"You're right." Lestrade replies. "But we can't wait for them. If they get wind we know where they are, they'll vanish into thin air, and this'll all be for nothing."

**###########################################**

"This is it." Jackson said, his handsome face now starting to bruise.

It was completely dark outside now, the winter night had set in quickly, and snow was still managing to fall steadily from the heavens.

"It doesn't look like much." Sally said, as Lestrade stopped the car on a long, tree-lined road, where the houses were huge and way off the road. "Is it one of those lock-up-and-leave jobs?"

"Yeah. It's been left to rot over the years, that's the appeal."

"Doesn't look like anyone's in." Ramona said, referring to the dark rooms, no sign of life anywhere. She brought her withering gaze to Jackson.

"We- they use the back rooms. No-one even knows that the house is in use."

"Did you see Callister there?"

"No." Everyone looked to him. "I heard him, though."

"What did you hear?" Ramona's voice was tight and completely furious, and Sherlock wondered if he was going to have to restrain her.

"...Crying."

Ramona's eyes widened in completely unbridled rage, feeling herself start to shake with anger. She wasn't sure she had ever felt so repulsed in her entire life.

"You vile, degenerate, human filth..." Ramona had to calm herself, which was no easy task. "_Tell me the code for the gate_." Her voice was so full of vehemence, it surprised even Sherlock.

"Three-one-two-six-nine-zero-four." He looked around the faces. "Can I go now?"

At this, the four detectives in the car burst out into disbelieving laughter.

"We'll lock him in the car." Lestrade said.

"In the boot?" Sherlock asked, and Ramona laughed again.

As the detectives got out of the car, Jackson fixed Ramona with a look of pure loathing. Ramona could feel the hate that he held for her. It made her happy that someone so disgusting hated her just as much as she hated him.

Ramona gave him a pleasant smile, and started to speak to him in a sickly-sweet voice.

"And I just want you to know, that after this, I'm going to put you behind bars for a solid five years minimum. I _promise_." She winks at him, as he glares after her. Being a lawyer had its perks.

Lestrade locks the car as Sherlock puts in the code, and the gate slides open.

"Back-up's around ten minutes away." Sally says.

"We can't wait, not while there's a risk of them slipping through our fingers." Lestrade says. "We need to catch them red-handed, it's the only way we can get evidence against the bastards."

And all of a sudden the four were running up the long drive to the huge, seemingly abandoned house, adrenaline kicking in simultaneously.

Sally was quick, she was athletic and it was obvious that she worked out, she was dedicated to her job, and she made it to the door first, followed by Ramona, who was closely flanked by Sherlock, and finally, Lestrade.

Sherlock quickly looked around on the floor, and then picked up a brick from from the rubble on the path, and without a word, knocked the door handle clean off the door. He then kicked at it, and it swung open.

Walking inside, the four of them were taken aback by the state of it.

The chandelier was still in use above them, although now it twinkled and glowed dimly, the crystals dusty. Only one staircase was functioning, the one to the right, the one to the left had fallen apart years ago. Various bird's nests were nestled in the corners and vermin scuttled about the floor, among the rubble and the nature that was taking back what was rightfully it's own, weeds starting to appear from cracks in the floor and vines crawling up the falling apart walls.

The railings on the second floor had fallen away in the middle, and in front of them was nothing but double doors.

"You two check downstairs." Sherlock says, looking at Donovan and Lestrade. "We'll take upstairs." They both nodded, admittedly, everyone in their preferred pair.

Lestrade and Donovan moved silently in synchronization, looking as if they were auditioning for a part on CSI.

_They'd probably get the part, too._

"Stay close, Ramona." Sherlock told her, under his breath. "These men are dangerous." He took out John's gun, and Ramona had to stop herself from panicking on seeing it.

"So are we." She whispered back, although her heart was racing with nerves. "You're not actually going to use that, are you?"

"Nowhere that would kill them. The most I'll do is cripple them." He winks at her, and Ramona can tell in an instant that he's trying to calm her down. "It's not even loaded." He admitted, and she visibly relaxed a fraction.

Getting up the stairs, Ramona saw a small girl, around six, standing there, painfully thin with pretty red hair and big eyes, wearing tatty, ripped clothes, that were obviously too small for her.

"Hello," Ramona walked up to her, as the girl simply stared. She smiled at her as she approached. "We've come to rescue you. Go wait out-"

And then the little girl was being shoved aside, and a man was now pacing towards her, screaming obscenities at her in fury with balled fists.

This was perfect, of course, as he walked straight into her kick to the gut. She could feel the mans pain as he made the classic 'Oh-God-I'm-An-Idiot-And-I've-Been-Winded' face, buckling down, giving her a perfect opportunity to kick him hard in the teeth with her boot toe. The man loses a few pearly-whites and his consciousness at the same time, collapsing onto the ground.

"Nice touch." Sherlock congratulates her at normal volume now, the adults having been alerted by their presence all of a sudden.

The girl stared at Ramona in wide-eyed awe.

"You're safe now, I promise nobodies going to hurt you ever again." She starts. "I want you to go tell everyone else. Can you do that for me, sweetie?"

She nodded silently, tears shining in her innocent eyes, as she ran off to go and alert the other children.

Ramona felt joy as she did, knowing that no matter what happened now, this had been a victory. She had done some good, finally.

This moment, however, was dampened by a group of men suddenly converging on their location.

Some of them were clutching at hammers, others were planning on using their bare fists.

She realised all of a sudden that Lestrade and Donovan had come upstairs to help them.

The first man to reach them swung at Ramona with his hammer, and she moved back to catch the blow on her forearm, sending a bolt of pain through the bone. She countered this by bringing down her foot on the sweet-spot the bottom of the kneecap and the top of the shin, hearing a sickening but slightly satisfying snap as he cries out in pain, dropping the hammer

Ramona quickly uses this moment of incapacitation to get the man in a headlock, making him bend back to her height, briefly grappling with the man as he tries to claw at her eyes, screaming abuse as if it would make any difference, she uses the headlock to pull him down, the middle of his spine meeting with her raised knee. He was now unconscious on the ground.

Looking around, she saw that everyone was sufficiently fighting off the out-of-shape but strong men.

Sherlock swung the butt of his gun into the side of a man's face, who was on his knees, knocking him cold out. Sally kicked a man square in his family jewels. Lestrade swung a right fist into a man's nose, breaking it on impact.

All of a sudden the men were running, like rats fleeing a sinking ship.

"Back-up are at the gates now, they'll get them."

Ramona could hear a helicopter in the distance.

"Come on, Donovan, we'll get the children." Lestrade says, and the two split up, going into different hallways.

Faint cries of 'Police, you're safe now!' Could be heard from left and right, as Sherlock and Ramona smiled at each other.

And just like that, they had done it.

"Well, that went... swimmingly." Ramona said, grinning madly, shaking from the sudden rush of adrenaline.

"Really?" She frowns at him in confusion. "Swimmingly? Will you ever stop surprising me with your ever-expanding vocabulary?"

And then they were both laughing, relief pushing them to the point of hysteria.

"You go back to the car. I'll cuff these idiots." Ramona says, getting out three silver pairs of handcuffs.

Sherlock nods and starts to make his way down the staircase, as Ramona moves to the first unconscious scumbag, roughly pulling his limp, heavy arms behind his back, cuffing them two notches too tight.

They had actually won. There had been no casualties along the way, either.

Maybe things in this case were starting to look up. Maybe everything would be fine. Today should be celebrated, regardless.

"We should go to Angelo's after this." Ramona says, slightly louder than usual, as Sherlock reaches the entrance. He turns to watch her, and she stands briefly so that they can make eye contact.

"Definitely."

"You hungry?"

"Starving."

They smile at each other for a moment, before Ramona's eyes widen in horror.

Jackson stood behind Sherlock, bits of glass on his blood-soaked jacket catching the light and glittering at her from where he had smashed out the window of the car.

"Behind you!" She cries.

And that was when she saw the knife in Jackson's hand.

Sherlock frowns, turning around.

But it was too late.

Ramona watched in horror as the knife punched straight into his stomach.

"_SHERLOCK!" _

All she can hear is her own scream of his name as he stumbles back, looking down in horror as his white shirt is suddenly becoming saturated with his own blood.

Ramona's sprinting as fast as she can down the stairs to him, Jackson taking off now that he had gotten his fill of revenge.

Sherlock was on his knees, expression still one of utter disbelief, hand at the wound as she gets to him.

Ramona gets onto her knees besides him, and slowly lowers him down onto his back, one hand on the back of his head.

Shaking now with utter panic, she gets out her phone and quickly punches in 999.

"Ambulance." She says, taking off her jacket as she spoke. "There's been a stabbing. The Bishops Avenue, number forty-seven. Thank you." Her voice was wavering as she ended the call, putting the phone down.

Without a second thought she ripped a sleeve of her shirt off, pulling it off her arm and then ripping his shirt open quickly, eyes stinging as tears start to shine in them.

"I need you to stay conscious, Sherlock. Can you do that for me?" He doesn't reply.

Ramona sees the wound and has to fight down the nausea that hits her so suddenly.

It was unlike anything she had seen, blood quickly pulsing out of him.

She quickly wraps the shirt sleeve around her hand, and then presses the wrapped hand to the wound firmly in an attempt to stop the blood-flow.

She couldn't panic, not now. Ramona couldn't afford to freak out now.

"I'm so sorry," She whispers, putting her free left hand under his head to provide a bit of comfort.

His skin was starting to get clammy, and she could see his pupils dilate.

He was going into shock.

Sherlock's eyes rolled into the back of his head as they closed.

"Sherlock! Sherlock, stay with me." His heartbeat was starting to race, she could feel it on the wound, even through her shirt.

"Please, _Sherlock!_" Her voice was choked as he went limp in her arms, and her body began to shake with wracking sobs. "No, no, Sherlock, please God _no_,"

* * *

**Sorry for the long and fast-paced chapter, I had a Redbull, and this just sort of... happened.**

**The stuff I had to google for the stabbing bit... if anyone sees my internet history now, they're definitely going to think I'm some sort of murderer/stabbing fetishist :P**

**Thank ya for reading, reviews are always loved!**


	72. It's Thunder And It's Lightening

**It's Thunder and It's Lightening - We Were Promised Jetpacks**

**I own nothing but the oc!**

* * *

The hospital room was bright.

Sherlock had been unconscious for six hours.

Ramona had been conscious for fifty five hours.

Everything seemed so surreal, yesterday had happened so fast. Could it all really have happened?

Perhaps this was all just a prolonged dream, and she couldn't fall asleep because falling asleep would actually be waking up or she was in a coma and none of this had ever even happened-

She jumped and her head snapped to the corner, as she caught a shadow move by itself out of the corner of the room.

Ramona sighed and put her head in her hands, mind all fizzled out and body barely functioning, realising that she had had a light form of a hallucination from being so sleep deprived. She was so tired she was scared of actually blacking out, but however much she tried, the anxiety of both the real and the dream world kept her firmly shackled to the realm of the awake for now and the foreseeable future.

It was at this moment that the door of the room opened. Ramona looked up and saw John, concern awash over his soft features, looking from the incapacitated Sherlock to her.

"Hello." Ramona got out.

"Hi." He replied, coming to sit next to her. "How is he?"

"He's stable." The sound of Sherlock's slow but regulated heartbeat backed her up. "The doctors say he was lucky."

"And... did you find...?"

"Callister? He- he wasn't there." Ramona looked down in shame. "We did find the other missing kid, though. Louis Macintyre."

"Oh, well, that's good."

"You're right, I suppose."

Silence lay heavy in the room, and Ramona had to stop herself from bursting into tears.

"Sorry, John. It's, uh... it's been a long night."

"Sherlock told me about your sleeping problem." She frowned, looking up to the good doctor.

"What?"

"He texted me, asking me if there was anything I could do." At this Ramona let out a tearful sigh, her breath shaky. "I brought a few things that might help you." John gestured to the bag he had carried inside.

"What else... did he tell you?" All of her limbs were so heavy from exhaustion, it was starting to affect her speech.

"He, er, he told me quite a bit." Ramona bit down on her bottom lip in sluggish thought.

"John, I know what you must be thinking, -"

"And what must I be thinking?" She looked up and their gazes locked.

"That - that I'm heartless; cold. That I was just using him." John pauses.

"I'll admit you're not far off." At this her eyes start to fill, and she starts to feel even more pathetic.

"It's not -"

"I think that's what you _want_ me to think." Ramona's eyes widen, brow furrowing at him. "But, um, I know that's not - not you, Ramona. Listen, I'm not very good with words, -"

"Thank you, John. It's," She sighs, trying to find the right words to say. "You know that I love him, don't you?" John stops in his tracks and stares at her with wide eyes. "Course you do, every bastard this side of the Thames knows it. If I could have it my way, we'd..." Another sigh escapes her. "But it's not about what I want."

There was a lull in the conversation, silence for a few seconds. She could practically hear him thinking.

"How do you know I won't tell him?" Ramona looks into his eyes, and he thinks it might be the most serious he'd ever seen her.

"If you care about him, John, then don't tell him. If you care about my life, or his, then never tell him."

He waits for a moment, and then, nods solemnly.

"I've got some of his stuff, too, like you asked."

"Thank you." They stared at each other for a moment, before Ramona broke off, looking down, the pain visible in her eyes.

"What's wrong?" He asks, more concerned than ever. "Apart from this, and yesterday... yesterday was a win. You arrested twenty-six of them, and what they found on their computers linked in hundreds of others that can all be put away."

"I just stood there, John." Her eyes were far away, the memory of Sherlock going onto his knees, the horrified expression etched onto his features as he saw his own blood on his hands forever branded into her mind. "Somebody tried to kill him... and all I did was just stand there."

"But you couldn't have gotten to him on time."

"I should have at least tried. I was frozen there like a - like an idiot, and all I could do was just watch." Her hand curled into a tight fist. "What if he had died? What if he - and I just -"

John put his warm hand over hers, looking sincerely into her eyes.

"You did all you could. There's no point in beating yourself up over it." She swallows, the lump in her throat choking her.

"If I hadn't have been such a... I was the reason it happened in the first place. I couldn't just keep my mouth shut, I had to aggravate him. I can't control myself like a reasonable adult."

"Ramona..." His voice trails off. "You need to get some rest. You're not doing anyone any favours being in the state you are now."

"You're right." She agrees.

"Get back to Baker Street, I'll keep an eye on him."

She stares at him for a moment, and then shakes her head.

"No, no, I don't want to leave him." John smiles, and then leans down to the bag he brought with him, and after a big of rummaging, producing a small rectangular cardboard box. John opens it and slides out a foil topped pill holder.

"Isn't giving prescription medication out illegal, Doctor Watson?" Ramona asks, making a fake shocked face, causing John to chuckle.

"Maybe." A smile tugs at the sides of his mouth.

"You little rebel." Ramona was smiling too, now. "Thanks, John."

"No problem. Now," He reaches for the glass of water on Sherlock's bedside table, passing it to her. "Take only one milligram before bedtime, no driving if it makes you feel drowsy, and don't mix it with alcohol." He smiles as he places a pill in her palm. "Doctor's orders."

Ramona takes it, and after a few minutes starts to feel drowsy. Her eyelids start to droop, and she takes off her shoes, curling her feet onto the sofa.

She tries to get comfy for ten minutes but finds it impossible. Noticing this, John comes up with a solution.

"You can rest your head on my shoulder, if you want."

"Really?" Her words were slurred ever so slightly, and a wide smile lit up her face as he nodded in confirmation.

She leaned to the right to rest her head on John's shoulder.

"You're going to make a brilliant dad, John."

This makes John smile, putting an arm around her shoulders and pulling her closer as she drifts off, the warmth of friendship putting her at ease.

**###########################################**

She wakes up disorientated and confused, her limbs feeling heavy. Ramona was covered in a fluffy white blanket with a pillow under her head, both of which hadn't been there when she had fallen asleep. Sitting up, she remembers all at once what had happened leading her to sleep in a hospital room on a blue sofa. She rubbed her bleary eyes, and then ran her fingers through her hair in an attempt to tame it. The last thing she remembered was falling asleep on John.

"Good morning." Ramona almost shot through the roof in shock at Sherlock's voice.

"You're up!" She cried, a bit too giddy, leaning forward to grab one of his large hands with both of hers, as Sherlock grimaced.

"Not so loud." He drawled, instinctively curling his fingers tightly around her hands.

"Sorry." Her eyes were practically sparkling with excitement. "How are you feeling?"

"I've been better." Sherlock's baritone was tired and gravelly.

"Where's-" She looks around. "Where's John?"

"Your makeshift leaning post left ten minutes ago for work." She smiles at the thought of John.

"Did he do this?" She gestures to the blanket and pillow.

"Yeah. I suppose your the best dad-practice he's got."

"Says the thirty-three year old child." He goes to make a rebuttal, but then, nods.

"I'll allow that." They both laugh, and Ramona lets go of his hand, leaning back.

"Are you hungry?"

"Yes. But I'm not going to eat the pathetic excuse for 'food' that they serve here."

"You've just woken up, and you've already insulted the entire kitchen staff of the hospital."

Yet again the pair cracked up, and Ramona feels herself relax. He winces, though, cutting off his chuckling.

"Well, the knighthood's definitely in the bag after this." Sherlock says.

"They're eventually going to stop offering you one if you keep turning it down, y'know." Ramona replied, grinning.

"Not for me, Ramona." She looks up, slightly startled.

"What?"

"Oh, you haven't seen the papers yet, have you?" Sherlock leans to the over to the other side, and produces a copy of today's Guardian, handing it to her with a smile. She takes it, slightly worried, and unfolds it, her heart jumping on seeing the front. It was a full-body picture of her.

**Children's Champion: Child Abuse Scandal Uncovered By Hat-Tec's Apprentice - Hundreds Arrested**

"Slow news day, I'm guessing." Ramona says, although her face was flushed.

"You're a national hero." He can't help but smile, feeling a swell of pride in his chest.

"No I'm not, I'm your apprentice. They couldn't even be bothered to put my name on the headline."

"Mona Doherty doesn't really have a ring to it, does it?"

"Oh, sorry, is my name not catchy enough for you?" Sherlock chuckles lightly.

"Read it." He commands. "You should see The Sun's coverage. All _they've _gone into detail about is your arse." Her eyes widen and she looks to him in mortification.

"Sherlock Holmes! Only I'm allowed to use that sort of language." He shakes with laughter, eyeing her mischievously as she pretends to read the paper. "Oh, I'm a bad influence, aren't I?" She muses.

"It depends on what you classify as bad." She pauses and looks up from the paper, fixing him with a curious look. "Sorry, it's the morphine." Ramona rolls her eyes but allows a grin.

Her phone sounded out and gave two short vibrations on the table. Ramona took and unlocked it, looking at the screen. There was only one word in the text, but she knew what it meant.

**Outside. - MH **

She felt a stab of anxiety that instantly took hold of her, and her heart started to sink in dread. Mycroft wanted a word.

"I'll be ten minutes. Just going out for a quick cig."

"You're not supposed to smoke on that sleeping medication. It can cause respiratory implications."

"That's the main implication that smoking causes to start with, Sherlock." She replies, causing him to sigh in defeat.

"I find it darkly ironic how you always see doctors smoking outside hospitals, don't you?"

"You keep up with that morphine, Sherlock." She almost smiles as she pulls on her leather jacket, straightening herself out in the small mirror in the room, before leaving.

**###########################################**

The double doors slid open in front of her as she exited the hospital. It wasn't hard to spot Mycroft, a dark figure in the surrounding ivory of the snow, umbrella over his head to shield himself from the perpetual downfall. He held a cigarette in his leather-gloved right hand.

"Ramona." He greeted her as she approached him.

"Oh, the text was from you? I was expecting Molly Hooper." She stuck her freezing hands in jacket pockets. "You do have the same initials, after all."

"Yes. Very amusing." He looked over her head to the hospital behind her briefly. "How's my brother?"

"You should go see for yourself, if you're so interested." His gaze quickly snapped back down to her, shooting her a cutting look.

Ramona raised a brow at his temperament, even worse than usual.

"Alright, Queenie, I get it; one is not amused." This probably didn't help raise his spirits. "I understand that you're probably angry with me right now."

"Angry?" He gave her a pleasant smile. Ramona tensed her jaw.

"I already feel abso-fucking-lutely _awful_, okay? So there's no need to come round here to give me a guilt-trip instead of seeing your brother, who, by the way, is gonna be totally fine. But unless I literally join me and Sherlock at the hip, there is no way in hell that I could have prevented what happened."

"The last thing I want you to do is get closer to my brother, Miss Doherty."

She frowned for a moment, perplexed.

"Sorry, what?"

"What were the conditions of your renewed contract? Jog my memory, if you will."

A pang and a hot flush of terror ran through her like a sudden strike of lightning. There was no way he could have seen. Was there?

"I don't need to repeat them. I know full well what they are."

"Well that statement is _quite_ the contradiction!" She knows that the shock had registered on her face.

_Fuck. _

"Mycroft..."

"A car'll be outside Baker Street in two hours to pick you up." Her eyes widen in shock. "Our contract is officially terminated."

Mycroft turns to leave, but before he can, Ramona grabs his arm. She feels him tense under her grip, before slowly facing her again.

"Mycroft, please don't do this."

"You've given me no choice."

"It won't happen again." He gives her a skeptical look. "I promise you. It was a one-off."

"How can I trust anything you say after this, Ramona?"

"You've never trusted me from the offset."

"That's nothing personal." Mycroft reasons. "I make it a healthy habit to not place my trust in anyone, you should know that by now."

"Why?" He frowns for a moment, taken aback by the directness of the question.

"Because what people say and what they think are two completely different things."

"When I say... when I - you know how I feel about him."

His expression was completely blank for a moment.

"Yes."

"Then don't make me leave him, Mycroft." She pleaded openly, not caring about how humiliating it was.

"You understand that nothing can ever actually _happen_, surely?"

"Naturally." Ramona knows this better than anyone else.

"Then why must you insist on tormenting yourself?"

"Because that torment is..." She looks away, sweeping her hair up off her face as the wind blows to the side. "It's all I've ever really... I was a kid, I was a teenager, and then I was what I am now. It's all I've ever really known, in my adult life."

Mycroft stares at her, his eyes more guarded than usual, and he appears as if he was searching for words to reply with. She felt intensely embarrassed, having to bare her soul to someone like him, begging a wrathful god for his mercy. Ramona felt smaller than ever, under the calculating gaze of the country's most powerful man. It was probably a Holmes thing.

"I will not be made a fool of, Ramona."

"It wasn't to spite you. It wasn't anything to do with you."

"That's not the answer I'm looking for."

"I don't know what sort of endgame you want from this, what you want from me."

"I want your assurance on the matter of my brother, and the caution that you _must _exercise."

"And you have it."

"Do I?" He steps closer. "Or will you fall victim to the siren call of human error time and time again, until it is the death of you both?"

"Christ Mycroft, what happened to you? What made you so jaded? Why do you refuse to believe that emotions might actually be good?"

He pauses as if caught out, as if nobody had ever thought to ask, and Ramona thinks she sees a flash of emotion over his features, before his shield is slammed back down.

"I advise not to push your luck."

"Luck? _Me_?"

"One more chance, Ramona." She's silent for a moment, biting her lip apprehensively.

_Why are you like this, Mycroft?_

"Thank you."

And with this, Mycroft turned, and began walking down the street, freshly fallen snow crunching under his expensive black shoes.

**###########################################**

"Careful!" Ramona exclaims, helping Sherlock up the narrow stairs of 221B Baker Street. He fixed her with an irritated gaze as he took another step, her hands carefully hovering around his right forearm as they reached the top of the stairs.

She opened the door of the flat for him, and he turned to look at her briefly as he passed her, invading her personal space effortlessly, making his way to the middle of the living room, surveying his surroundings with a content sigh.

"Now, the doctors said to take it easy, so you're on house arrest for at least three days." Sherlock turned to her in outrage, but before he could speak - "No exceptions. I'll be your eyes and ears in the outside world for now."

"Your concern is flattering, Ramona, but unnecessary." He goes to get his laptop from the kitchen. "I don't require you to babysit me, I'm perfectly capable of taking care of -" Sherlock lets out a sudden cry of pain, and she quickly rushes to him.

"That's strange, it's as if what you're saying is completely and utterly _wrong_."

"I just - I bumped into the counter right where -" His brow was furrowed, his eyes closed and voice husky, obviously trying mask the pain from her, although his hand had subconsciously traveled straight to cover the wound. Ramona decided to stop mocking him, despite the immense temptation to do so, sighing.

"Okay, get to your room. You didn't really sleep at the hospital. It's bedtime, anyway." Sherlock shot her a look. "Alright, no babysitting lingo, sorry. Wouldn't want to harm that fragile male ego of yours." His hands went to his laptop, and Ramona quickly slapped them away. "Seriously though, it's ten o'clock, you should get some rest. Do you want me to get you your night-light? Stuffed toy? Warm milk?"

"You're hilarious." Sherlock said, making his way down the hallway. Ramona followed him.

"I suspect from your tone that you're not being _completely_ sincere." She replied, smirking.

"Nice deduction skills." He said, now reaching his bedroom door, turning to her.

"Oh, I learnt from the best."

For a moment there was nothing but the two of them in a shared smirking silence, gazes locked and the constant underlying tension suddenly brought to light. Sherlock opened the door behind him, not breaking eye-contact.

"I... think I can take it from here, thank you." He said. Her eyes widened a fraction, stepping back.

"Oh, er, yeah, course. Sorry."

"You've got nothing to apologise for. Goodnight." Sherlock replied, walking into his room and closing the door in front of her.

Hearing his footsteps around his room, Ramona stared at the door for a few moments, fighting the urge to follow him inside his bedroom. Realising that her mind was wandering perhaps a bit too far than she normally allowed it to travel, she turned, walking down the hallway, taking Sherlock's laptop as she passed it and going to the sofa in the living room, turning it on and quickly unlocking it.

Having had time to think about it now, it was clear that the bust had been good, yes, but it had ultimately been a blunder. More than a blunder, it had been an intense disappointment.

She now had to face a certain fact that she had been trying to dodge for all this time.

Callister Irwin, was, without a doubt, dead.

There was no way he could have survived this long with a kidnapper, not now. By this time, all they would ever find of him was his body. Perhaps they'd never even find that. This wasn't negativity, this wasn't her natural pessimism coming to light, it was realism. The odds were stacked against Callister now.

Despite herself, Ramona found her vision blurring with inevitable tears. Feeling idiotic she shut Sherlock's laptop and placed it on the coffee table, leaning forward, resting her elbows on the tops of her knees and hiding her face in her hands. Why didn't she get to him in time? She had to be faster. She had to stop with the stupid, unnecessary distractions and focus on what she should have been doing this entire time. Solving crimes, helping victims, putting away criminals. What had she been doing instead? Fussing about Sherlock and self-indulging in ridiculous emotions that ultimately meant absolutely nothing? How many people could she have helped when she had been feeling sorry for herself, thoroughly self-absorbed?

A quiet, muffled whimper escaped her, shoulders shaking with the quietened crying. She felt terrible - a reoccurring theme in her life, it would seem. This was it, it was a turning point. Ramona was going to be the best she could be, and she wouldn't let silly things like being hopelessly in love get in the way. Not anymore.

Regardless of the what she was thinking, she still felt nothing but despair. It was most likely the stress of the entire ordeal, along with Mycroft being a bit of a dick, and Sherlock being brilliant, but now she was silently crying, hands wet with her own tears.

"Are you alright, dearie?" Mrs Hudson query sent a jolt of shocked shame through her despite the docile tone. The elderly woman stood at the door, visibly taken aback. Ramona wiped her face with the backs of her thumbs, hands shaking with brimming emotion.

"M-Mrs Hudson." Her voice was trembling. "Sorry, I - I don't know why I'm -" The lump in her throat was choking her now, and she broke out into uncontrollable sobs.

"Oh, love!" The woman rushed to sit beside her on the couch, wrapping an arm around her shoulder as Ramona turned into her shoulder. "What is it?" She asks, stroking her hair.

"It's just e-everything," her right hand was holding onto Mrs Hudson's shoulder.

"Would you like some tea and biscuits, Ramona? You can tell me _all _about it."

"A-and some toast." The elderly woman nodded as she stood up, Ramona drying her face again and trying to compose herself.

"Of course."

"And crumpets." She stood up too. "And scones. And jaffa cakes, if you've got any." Mrs Hudson smiled at her and nodded, turning to go to her flat, Ramona going to follow. "Oh, and maybe cheese and crackers?"

"It's a bit late to be having cheese, dear. You'll have nightmares!"

"I don't have to worry about those, Mrs Hudson." She replied, knowing that it didn't matter what she ate before bed, the nightmares always came.

**###########################################**

The next morning, Ramona stood at the window of 221B, watching as the huge snowflakes fell relentlessly, surveying the swelling grey clouds that submerged London into its usual gloom.

"Morning." Sherlock's voice from the kitchen.

"Good morning." She replied, not turning from the window. "Your morning tea's on the table." Acknowledging this, he approaches the table near her, sitting down. He took a moment, before looking up and surveying her.

"Dear God, what on earth are you wearing?" He asks, and she turns to him with a defensive expression.

"This is Mrs Hudson's nightie."

"I know _that_, I'm asking _why_."

"Unless you want me to sleep in my skinny jeans, Sherlock, there wasn't really another option."

"Hm." He seems to take this in for a moment, before producing his phone from his dressing gown pocket and quickly taking a picture, mouth turning up in a self-satisfied smirk.

"Oi!" She cried, startled and a tad horrified.

"What?"

"Delete that right now!"

"Um..." Sherlock seemed to ponder this for a moment. "No."

"Why would you even take a photo of me in a nightie?" He shrugged.

"Leverage."

"And just how are you planning to blackmail me?"

"Just..." He puts the phone on the table next to him, and pats it happily. "Covering all my bases."

"Since when - oh, doesn't matter." Ramona sighs. "It's just you." Sherlock flinches, despite trying to mask it. He takes a mouthful of tea and then lowers the cup back down to the table. "Anyway, your breakfast'll be up in a minute. I'm going to be out for a few hours today, but -"

"Do you have to leave me on my own? With Mrs Hudson?"

"What's wrong with Mrs Hudson?"

"Oh, so your now nightie-sharing bosom-buddies with our housekeeper?"

"Not your housekeeper!" Mrs Hudson cries, carrying Sherlock's breakfast on a tray and approaching the table.

"You're not going to let this go, are you?" Sherlock considers this for a moment.

"It's the most interesting thing that's happened around here since that seemingly unsolvable murder, so probably not, no." He admitted.

"I've got to get some stuff of mine from Hannah's. I've got these three days off to take care of you, so be thankful."

"If anything, _you're_ the one who should be thanking _me_." Sherlock declared.

"For what?"

"Giving you a suitable excuse to escape the mundane day-to-day death that you seem to think is perfectly acceptable to call a _life_."

"Fucking hell, even for you, that was quite... anti-establishment." Ramona's quite taken aback.

"Oh, what happened to you, Ramona? I thought you'd rather die than give in to the post-capitalist society that we live in."

"I grew up, Sherlock." He pauses at this, his eyes flickering down her body and up again.

"Didn't you just?" He muttered, their gazes locking and silencing arriving for an arresting three seconds.

"Anyway, as- as much as I appreciate your appreciation... then I have to go to the gym for a couple of hours." Sherlock frowns.

"'Have to'? For a 'couple of hours'?"

"I need to raise my game." Ramona raises a brow as she studies his bed-head. "Not all of us can achieve peak fitness by occasional bursts of sprinting and starving yourself half to death."

"How unfortunate for you." Sherlock replies in a disinterested tone, and her nose crinkles for a moment in frustration that he had won. "Thank you, Mrs Hudson." He says, as the landlady lowers the tray in front of him.

"Right, well, I'm getting changed and then I'm off." She goes to the entrance of 221B. "Sherlock, don't leave the house, or I'll be royally pissed off - Mrs Hudson, don't let him out the house," Sherlock snorts with laughter, as if Mrs Hudson could get in his way. "Goodbye."

"Don't worry dear, we can play Cluedo!" She hears Mrs Hudson enthuse, and then, a defeated sigh.

"...Okay."

**###########################################**

She hit the punchbag with all her force, throwing hooks into the black and red leather, determined to make her arms ache and build muscle.

The truth was, the latest events had scared her. She had left Sherlock completely defenseless. It had slipped her mind for a moment, and she wouldn't let that happen again. As of now, Ramona wasn't even sure if she could physically fend off an attacker, and it made her incredibly nervous.

"Now get on the floor and give me fifty press-ups." Tom commanded, and she obeyed immediately, dropping to the padded ground and doing exactly that.

If she could just get stronger, become more powerful, more skilled, then she could have some confidence, a little faith in herself. She wouldn't let her own body become an issue, not with everything else happening.

"And now I want seventy-five sit-ups." Ramona gave a small nod to Tom, the man who owned the boxing gym that she had started to attend before she had 'died', and had just got back to now. She was now back on her grueling regime of fitness that was for the sole purpose od strength and speed, along with fighting tactics.

Once she was finished, Ramona stood back up, her body now trembling slightly from reaching her absolute limit. She reached for her water and tipped it back, basically downing the entire thing.

"I want to show you something I got in specially for you." He told her, and Ramona raised an interested eyebrow.

"Yeah?" She asked through shallow breath, following him across the gym, that was surprisingly busy considering the weather, as he walked behind reception and started digging around for something.

"When you first started, I was interested as to why. You aren't overweight and you don't seem to be self-conscious about your body. Then, I realised that it must have been self-defence, which is what women come here for a lot. However, the limits that you push yourself to... I've never really seen anyone so determined. I've never once had to shout at you to keep going, you seem to have your own motivation."

"Thanks, I guess."

"And then, when you stopped coming, and I got wind of you being... of you being dead, I got a bit upset. Wondered if you hadn't been able to defend yourself. I'm still pretty shocked that you're alive, actually."

"Same." Ramona quipped, just now getting her breath back.

"So, I got this from a contact." He holds out a pouch to her, that was rectangular and had something inside, about nine inches long. Ramona takes it from him and feels the surprising weight.

She quickly opens it, and takes out an eight inch long thing, that has a black rubber handle, and looks very serious.

"A telescopic truncheon?" Ramona asks, looking up to him.

"They're technically not legal in the UK for civilians. I think it's ridiculous, personally, that we're not allowed weapons to defend ourselves."

She flicks it in her hand, as if trying to crack a long whip, and it extends all the way to 31 inches. Ramona shifts it in her grip, examining it carefully. It was black steel and looked very expensive, the kind that would be able to withstand the most harsh of strikes.

"It's the kind that American police use. One strike can hurt more than twenty well aimed punches. It can break bones, if you know where to hit and how." She considered this for a moment.

"How much?"

"For you, free." She raised an eyebrow. "You pay for membership, plus, you never give me any hassle. And, I like your attitude. It's refreshing."

"Thank you." Ramona smiled in pleasant surprise, being able to add this to her repertoire of very illegal, very imported weapons.

"I can show you how to use it, if you want."

"Please, if it's no trouble." Tom smiled at her.

"None at all."

**###########################################**

Returning to 221B, Ramona now stood at the doorway, black backpack over one shoulder.

"I'm home!"

"Finally." Sherlock's voice from his chair. Looking over to him now, he was sat in his sweatpants, grey t-shirt and royal blue dressing gown.

"Been festering long?" She asks, walking to the kitchen.

"Been over-conditioning your hair long?" Ramona pauses, startled, turning back to him with wide, disbelieving eyes.

"I'm sorry?"

"This," He gestures to her hair with one outstretched hand. "Is a flat mess." Trying to be the mature one, Ramona puts but doesn't rise to it.

"Alright." She shrugs, although her tone is tight with hurt and slight embarrassment. "Don't really see the point in putting me down as soon as I walked through the door, but alright."

"It's not you, Ramon." Mrs Hudson said from the kitchen, wiping down the counters. "It's that pain relief medication he's on. He says whatever he's thinking." Ramona tries to hide her annoyance.

"Oh, brilliant. Because usually he censors his more rude thoughts." She looks back to the offending detective, who is now checking the window, his eyes presumably on the overcast skies. "Sherlock has an international reputation not only for his outstanding and almost inhuman deduction skills, but also what a sensitive and thoughtful person he is."

"I'm going over to Mrs Turner's for the storm, deary, she's got a better view, you see. So I've made you your dinners a bit early." Ramona paused for a moment, flummoxed by the sudden storm-mentioning.

"Wait, what?"

"The storm!" She exclaimed, as if this was common knowledge. "Didn't you hear about it?"

"A storm? What kind?"

"Lightning, apparently." Mrs Hudson let out a small squeal of excited anticipation. "Ooh, I do just love a good bit of thunder and lightning. It's supposed to hail and rain a bit as well, and it's going to get rid of all the snow, too!"

"Huh. I hadn't heard about this." Ramona blinked, letting the information sink in. "Oh, it'll be fun, then! I like lightning too!"

"Oh, your interests truly are fascinating and wholly cultured, Ramona." She gritted her teeth, snapping her head round to glare at him.

"Sherlock, you snarky little shit!"

"Oh, you wouldn't have me any other way." He smirked back at her, totally unaffected by her annoyance. Ramona huffed and turned back to Mrs Hudson.

"Have fun with Mrs Turner, then, and thanks for tea."

"No problem at all, love. See you later!" She left the flat, and without warning it was just the two of them.

"Your apron doesn't match your cardigan!" Sherlock calls after her.

"Is it only fashion tips you give out, or do you also do seminars on how to lower peoples self-esteem?"

"Both. I dabble." His voice was more clipped than usual.

"So..." Ramona's voice trailed off, unsure of how to handle the back of Sherlock's head, his interest still fully occupied on the skies. "What do you want to do to pass the time? Film? Games? We could play board games, but I reckon you've already-"

"Actually speaking to you is getting quite tedious and sometimes listening to you babble on makes me wish that I really had died, so I'm going to make up the excuse that I'm tired so that I don't have to interact with you." Sherlock says, in a matter-of-fact tone, his face completely unreadable and his voice showing no hint of emotion.

"Oh, right. Lovely..." She swallows. "Well I've got work to do, so I'll see you in the morning."

"Night." He says, making his way to his room.

Ramona watched him as he shut the door behind him, deciding that she had barely even spoken to him today, yet she was supposed to be taking care of him.

_It wasn't really fair of me to dump him on Mrs Hudson, was it? So he's pissed off at me? I wouldn't be surprised, the way I've been acting lately..._

She sighed, and then made her way to the window.

This was when the first rumble of thunder sounded.

A giddy expression spread across her face, eyes lighting up.

Then, there was the first flash of lightning. The strike of the pure electricity lit up her face with white light in the window as the rain started, gaining powerful ferocity quickly.

Checking the forecast on her phone, this was supposed to go on all night, peaking at around midnight and staying that way for four hours.

Turning around, the smell of Mrs Hudson's mouth-watering home cooking hit her instantly, along with the reminder that Sherlock hadn't eaten it.

She walks over to the plate full of food, putting it onto a tray and carrying it down the hallway, hoping it wasn't going to be felt the second rumble of thunder deep inside her chest, and it was almost deafening.

She knocked on the door with three raps, and then waited. After a few moments, a confused look overtook her features.

"Sherlock?"

No reply.

"Sherlock?"

Again, no reply.

"I'm coming in, Sherlock." She declares, before opening the door.

The sudden strike of lightning lit the empty room before her.

Her eyes widened in shock, and she almost dropped the tray. Instead, trying not to panic, she went to the still-made bed and set it down there, before looking around, and switching the bedroom light on.

Ramona paced to the window, the blinds of which were fully covering it. She pulls up the blind and checks the window, but it's locked shut. Plus, the layer of dust on the windowsill hadn't been broken.

Sherlock hadn't left the house.

Perplexed now, she turned around, surveying the room. Ramona suddenly dropped to the floor, turning her head to the carpet to check under the bed for the detective.

No sign of him.

Was this another one of those locked room mysteries?

"Sherlock? This isn't funny, just come out." She called out, standing up.

No reply.

Was he testing her?

Sighing, she made her way to the wardrobe. Ramona knew it was silly, but it was the only-

Her eyes widened to the size of small blue moons to find Sherlock sat in his wardrobe, back at one side of it, feet at the other.

"Sherlock?" She was frowning now, not quite believing her eyes.

"Ah... Ramona. Fancy seeing you here."

"What are you doing in your wardrobe, Sherlock?"

"Hm? Oh, just..." He swallowed, before looking back up to her. "I distinctly recall telling you I was going to sleep."

"Yeah, you did."

"Then that's what I'm doing." She blinked at him. "Isn't it obvious?"

"Yeah, transparent." Ramona said.

"Right, well... See you in the morning, then."

"Why are you in your wardrobe?"

"Why are you looking in my wardrobe?"

"Because you're in it!"

"Perhaps I enjoy a spot of... wardrobe-sitting every now and then."

"Can I make a deduction, Sherlock?" He sighs.

"If you must."

"I think you're afraid of thunder and lightning."

"That - that is utterly _ridiculous_!" He cries, now upgraded to an outraged wardrobe-sitter. "I am _Sherlock Holmes_, Ramona."

"And why can't '_Sherlock Holmes'_ be afraid of thunder and lightning?"

Sherlock was silent for a moment.

"I'd really prefer to be alone right n-"

Sherlock's whole body jolted and he let out a small cry of terrified shock as lightning struck the city.

"WOULD YOU _CLOSE_ THAT BLIND!" He roared, and Ramona moved quickly to do what he said, and then went back to his wardrobe. "Thank you." He was now breathing quickly.

"Sherlock, I need you to get out of the piece of furniture."

"Why? I'm perfectly fine here."

Ramona outstretched a hand to him.

"This is no way for an astraphobe to spend a storm."

"Well you should go and find one, then."

"Please."

Staring at her hand, he swallowed his pride and took it, getting out of the wardrobe and now towering over her, as it usually was.

"I'll help you through this." Ramona said, leading him from his bedroom to the living room.

His hand was shaking uncontrollably in hers.

The first thing she did was run up to her room and take all the blankets she could find. Ramona quickly set to work covering all of the windows with the blankets, so that now the effect was dampened. After this, she set a few down beside the fire.

"Sit." She instructed, pointing to the newly-placed blankets, and the frightened detective had no choice but to comply.

Ramona then dove into her bag, producing a new pair of ear-plugs, and then going over to Sherlock.

She sat down opposite him, crossing her legs and handed the box to him.

"Put these in. I have to use them sometimes otherwise your violin keeps me up all night. They're brand new, don't worry. You won't be able to hear the thunder." Sherlock nods. "I'll stay awake with you. There's really nothing to worry abou-"

It was at this point the entire city fell into darkness with one lightning strike, Sherlock jumping again.

The living room was suddenly completely pitch-black, all the electric appliances turning off with a resounding click.

Before she could comprehend what had happened Sherlock's warmer than usual large hands were wrapped around her wrists painfully tight, staring at her in horror.

"Ramona the -" His voice was panicked and his words rapid. "The lightning hit the BT tower the - there's no more electricity in the city it's a blackout in the middle of London I don't know what-"

"Sherlock." Ramona said, and then, the storm inside him calmed, staring at her with wide blue eyes. "Calm down, okay? It's just a blackout. We've got a fire right here."

She felt his grip grow gentle on her wrists, and she turned her left hand to take his pulse.

"Jesus, your heartbeat. You must be really scared of this, huh?" He quickly took his hands from her wrists. She looked around for the other blanket, and then, taking it from the floor, she lay it across his head so that he could still see, and then pulled it around his chest.

"I'm sorry about this." His voice was subdued, it was clear he was struggling with embarrassment and fear at the same time.

"There's nothing to be sorry about."

"Ramona-"

"You take care of the spiders, and I'll take care of the storms, alright?" Subconsciously, one of her hands had been curling around one of his, trying to get it to stop shaking.

"Thank you." He murmured, and a slow smile crept onto her lips. "And you don't tell anyone about this. Not even Hannah."

"Not even Hannah." She confirmed. "You should probably put those earplugs in now, before you lose this calm. Oh, wait there." Ramona stood up, going over to the table chair and taking Sherlock's scarf off it, then returning with it in her hands.

"What are you planning to do with that?"

"Put those earplugs in, detective." Sherlock nodded, doing as she instructed.

The flickering fire lit the flat only dimly, casting shadows on the black and white wallpaper on the other side of the cozy living room, a polar opposite to anything happening outside. Ramona took the blanket from Sherlock's head, placing it next to her in a crumpled mess.

Then, taking the ends of the scarf in both hands, she pointed to her mouth for Sherlock to read her lips.

'Close your eyes.' She mouthed, and he nodded again, doing as she said.

Ramona then budged forward on her knees, leaning up to his face to place the scarf around his eyes. Tying it at the back of his head she was careful not to get any of his curls trapped in fear of hurting his sensitive head.

Leaning back down, she paused, the tip of her nose only inches away from his. Ramona closed her eyes in determination, sitting back down without touching him.

Sensory deprivation was the best for him, she decided. If he couldn't hear or see the storm, how could he be afraid of it?

"Can you hear me?"

This was met with complete silence.

Ramona was proud of her work now, leaning back so that her back was resting on John's chair.

Before she could move away, Sherlock blindly grabbed her arm at the top of her elbow, desperately pulling her closer to him.

"I need to know you're still here." He says, his voice quieter than usual, almost ashamed.

Ramona thought for a moment, before taking his other hand, and holding it palm up.

With another hand, she traced an 'OK' into his palm. A smile now tugged at Sherlock's mouth.

Something about his appearance made her breath hitch in her throat, her heart falling out of rhythm for a few beats. In the poor lighting he was hard to make out, but that same wide, closed-mouth smile still had the ability to mess up her thoughts. And then, she had a thought.

The city's electricity was off. The lights were all off, so were the cameras, the windows were blocked.

No - she couldn't do that. As much as she wanted to, those short-lived days were over now. Why couldn't Ramona accept it?

There was another roar of thunder as she reached out with her free hand to get a book from her bag. Looking back up to him, she decided it was best for him to try and get some rest.

She traced several Z's into his palm one capital letter at a time.

"You're going to read, aren't you?"

Ramona put a 'YES' down.

"You'll need both hands for that." He declared.

Without another word, he let go of her hand, and put his hands on the thighs of her crossed legs. Her eyes widened in shock, heart jumping into her throat as he leaned down.

Sherlock maneuvered himself so that he was lying on his back, his head in her lap. He would have been staring straight into her eyes, had he not been dressing up for blind-man's-buff. She shuffles back to try and get more comfortable, which is met by a visible and audible scowl from him.

"Stay still." He commands. "I'm going to my mind palace." She rolled her eyes and partially wished he could hear just so she could insult him.

This was how it stayed for around half an hour, Ramona could never be sure of how long she read for, but the entire flat was still cast into the murkiness, and starting to get colder, as the night rolled in. Every so often thunder would split the heavens open and Sherlock would be able to feel the rumble of it in his chest, and Ramona could feel his body stiffen.

Looking down at Sherlock now, she spotted one curl of his hair trapped in the scarf. It annoyed her, and with how still he was being, she thought that he might be asleep, so she freed the lock of hair gently, and managed to be surprised at how soft it was. Ramona really should be taking hair tips from him.

The feeling was addictive enough for her to twirl it around her index finger for a moment, returning her attention to the book, and a few minutes later, realised that she had stopped doing that, and was now stroking his hair absentmindedly.

Feeling embarrassed she pauses, her fingers tangled in his hair. After getting no reaction at all, it occurred to her that Sherlock had fallen asleep. Considering her options, Ramona continues to run her fingers through the raven curls almost therapeutically, returning to her book, and smiling to herself contentedly.

* * *

**Does this count as fluff? **

**Okay, so this is gonna be the last update for like 10 days as I'm going on holiday :)**

**Thank you for reading, even more if you decide to leave a review!**


	73. Future Starts Slow

**Future Starts Slow - The Kills**

* * *

A gentle lilt of the violin drifted through 221B.

Ramona had woken up in Sherlock's bedroom, and having lived with his somewhat closeted chivalry, had decided not to say anything. They hadn't spoken about any of the last evening's events, that had transpired in the cloak of the storm, and she knew that it would never be brought up.

Sherlock now stood at the window in his usual brooding stance, stopping every so often to turn around and scribble down more of his composition on the blank sheet paper.

"Tea?" She asks from the kitchen, in one of those moments.

"Please." Was his simple response, not looking down from his work.

She bites down on her lower lip, wanting to say something else, but not quite sure as to what. In the end, she came to the resolution that it was sometimes better to not break the silence. The violin started up again, drowning out the light sigh from her in the kitchen, checking her watch.

The tea being made, Ramona sets it down on the table, and was about to go back over to the kitchen table, when the door opened.

"Greg's here, you two." Mrs Hudson, opening the door for the two said detectives.

"Greg?" Sherlock's brow creases, tilting his head at the landlady before looking to Ramona. "Do we know a Greg, Ramona?" This illicits a laugh from her, as Lestrade steps inside the flat. "Ah, Graham." Sherlock sets the violin down, deciding that he was worthy of his undivided attention. "Sorry, Mrs Hudsons getting old." He gives a short shrug, pale blue eyes flitting up to the ceiling. "Rubbish with names."

"Yeah." Lestrade replies, looking at him with a tolerating but not at all happy expression. He glances over to Ramona, to find her biting back a giggle. "Just came over to make sure you're alright." He says, looking back to the injured consulting detective. "You scared us, Sherlock."

"Well, next time I'm stabbed I'll make sure I do it in a much more soothing manner." Sherlock glances to Ramona to see her reaction.

"He's growing a sense of humour, Greg." She states, reaching over for a book on the small table next to the chair.

"It'd seem so, yeah." He agrees, smiling. "So you're alright, then."

"More than alright. Excellent. Exceptional. Eminent." He takes a few steps towards Lestrade, hands in his suit pockets, pushing back his royal blue dressing gown. "All in all A lot of E's." He draws out the last syllable.

"Oh, well," Lestrade was slightly concerned. "That's good."

"It's the drugs." Ramona excuses him. "I suspect they might have a few E's in them, too." Sherlock's mouth twitches at a side smirk, looking to her. "Also, you used eminent wrong."

His eyes narrow, turning his whole body to her. "No I didn't."

"Yes you did. Eminent; famous and respected within a particular sphere or present to a notable degree."

"I'm both of those things."

"Not in terms of your health you're not."

Sherlock scowled, walking towards her. "You're not exactly _eminent_ in the sphere of grammar yourself."

Ramona smirked now. "That's not exactly the sphere I'm hoping to be eminent in."

"'You used eminent wrong' doesn't work." He leaned in, and Lestrade felt as if he had been forgotten. "It should be wrongly."

She blinks twice. "Wrongly isn't a word." Ramona insists, feeling a strange clamp of anxiety at being incorrect when it came to academia.

He seems to clock her sudden distress, taking pleasure in it. "Yes it is. You can't actually think you're right, can you?"

"Wrongly isn't a word." She repeats, putting down the book now and pulling herself up higher in the chair. "It doesn't sound right."

"Oh, well if it doesn't _sound _right, then," Sherlock's expression alone is enough to poke fun at her.

"I wouldn't be picking a fight with the person that knows your weakness, Sherlock." Her eyes spark with malice as he appears shocked for a moment, even hurt, and she wonders if she's crossed a line, before his mask falls back into place.

"I wasn't." He leans in even closer, and the galaxies that hid in his eyes were all she could see. "Not until now, anyway." There was something in that jaguar-like baritone of his, combined with his proximity and the light lingering of his breath on her face that sent an unadulterated shiver down her spine.

"Do you two just sit around here and flirt all day?" Lestrade's voice cuts through the atmosphere and Sherlock straightens up slowly, turning to look at him. "Because it seriously seems like that's the case."

"Speaking of cases, how's the current one going?" Sherlock asks, completely ignoring what he had just said.

He gives a put-upon sigh, running a hand through his hair. "Not well. We've got no leads." At the thought of Callister, Ramona's blood runs cold. "It's starting to look like a cold case."

Lestrade left around ten minutes later, leaving them together in a slightly awkward silence.

Then, Ramona remembered what day it was.

"FUCK!" She cries, jumping up from her seat. Sherlock by this time had become accustomed to her sudden shouts of swear words, it didn't make it any less irritating, and it still made his heart leap in shock, however, he had now mastered the art of not letting it show, keeping his perfect poker face intact at all times.

"Forgot your doctor's appointment?" He murmurs, not expecting her to hear. But, she does. Ramona snaps her head back to him, eyes wide, staring at him.

"How'd you know that?"

Sherlock blinked. "Your phone reminders. Obviously." Ramona closes her eyes for a moment, trying not to get irritated as she walked towards her shoes, putting them on.

"How many times do I have to tell you, Sherlock?"

"Tell me what?"

"Tell you that all the world's leaders are actually alien lizards dressed as humans. What d'you think?!" She pulls on her coat. "You don't investigate your friends!"

He pulls a curious look. "Of course I do. I can't help it. I have an inquisitive nature."

"Yeah, regardless of what the psychiatrist told your parents when they sent you to be psycho-analysed, Sherlock, it's not normal."

"Why would I care about normal?" He scoffed. "What's normal ever done for me?"

She shook her head. "Whatever. It's impossible to argue with someone who can barely hear me from the linings of their own intestines." Sherlock took a moment before he got it.

"Oh. You're saying I have my head up my-"

"Laters!"

The door shuts a fraction too loud for his tastes.

**###########################################**

Ramona sat on the blue chair in the doctor's waiting room, flicking through a well-thumbed copy of National Geographic, currently marveling at the sights that the Amazon had to offer, including the alligators that swam its murky depths. As she decided that the number of teeth they possessed was definitely an overkill on evolution's part, the silence was broken.

"Mona Doherty?" Nurse Cameron peered out of the door. Ramona stood up, putting the magazine back and crossing the lino floor over to the office.

"Hi," She smiled at the male nurse, who returned it pleasantly.

She was getting tested to see if she was, in fact, to share the same infertile state of her sister. It wasn't as if she'd care either way. Well, that was what she told herself, because as the doctor had stated, it was a 99% chance that she had a completely identical body to Ciara, internal organs and all.

"Okay, just a few questions and we can get started. So, have you ever had a blood test before?" He asked, sitting down, as Ramona does the same.

"No, actually." The blood was going to be used to test for the hormones progesterone and gonadotrophins.

"Fear of needles?" Cameron asks, now taking out a check-board and ticking off things as they went along.

"No."

"Do you have any sexually transmitted infections of diseases?"

"Nope."

"Do you smoke?"

Ramona paused. "Yes."

"Regularly?"

"I suppose."

"How many would you say you have, on a daily basis?"

"Is this important?"

"Smoking can effect fertility rates."

"Oh, sorry. Er, it depends how I'm feeling, but around... I'd say around five a day usually, but it can go up to an entire pack a day if I'm... stressed."

"And are you stressed regularly?"

"Everyone in London's stressed out. Permanently." This earns a little laugh from the decidedly cute nurse.

"And how's your sex drive?" Suddenly, she was blushing.

"Well, depends who I'm around, really."

"Amen to that." They both laugh, and Ramona has to put a hand to her hot cheek as her mind begins to drift to a certain violin lesson, with less violin learning and more of the best, most wild, passionate and so- "Do you take any illegal drugs?"

"No."

"How much do you drink a day?"

"I rarely drink, only really when I'm going out, then I'd say I have around two glasses of wine and two cocktails, that's me done, really."

"Oh, a lightweight." He grins, but all she can think about is Sherlock. "Are you on any medication?"

"Nah."

"And are you trying for a baby currently?"

"Um, no, but..." She looked him in the eye. "I'm curious." Cameron nods.

"Right, well, let's actually get your blood taken, then. Please take off your coat and give me your arm." She does as instructed. Ramona looked away for the entire process, deciding to study the pictures hung on the wall instead of the crimson being taken from her, sucking in air through her teeth as she feels the scratch of the needle.

"Well done."

He dabs cotton wool at the small pin-prick, and despite the microscopic wound, her entire left arm felt strangely hollow and painful.

"It might bleed for a bit longer, but it's perfectly normal." He says, as he places a plaster onto her pale skin.

"Thanks." She stands up, taking her coat and quickly pulling it on. "When can I expect the results?"

"In a few days."

Ramona nods. "Thanks again."

Did she even want kids? Honestly, she adored children, and would love a permanent tiny version of her, however her lifestyle and purpose dictated that it was promptly impossible. Who'd be the father, anyway? Sherlo- no, not him, silly girl. You stupid, stupid- but imagine a little baby, swaddled in soft blankets and puffy, soft chubby cheeks the colour of light peaches and Sherlock's eyes and- Shut up!

God, she needed a cigarette.

**###########################################**

By the time she got back, the winter sun was starting to set.

"It's in the dictionary!" Sherlock's voice from the kitchen, as she shimmied off her coat and set it on the back of the chair.

"What's in the dictionary?"

"Your face by the word 'idiot'." Followed by a little snigger that was actually a bit adorable. Ramona turned to him with false outrage, walking over to where he was sat at the kitchen table.

"I can't believe you'd call me that." Sarcasm was thick in her voice. "That's just so _harsh_, Sherlock, I'm hurt."

"Really, though. It's in it. Wrongly."

She narrowed her eyes at him. "Are you high, Sherlock?"

"God, I wish I was. Might make things a little more interesting around here." Ramona gives him a look. "No, no, the word wrongly." He nods towards the Cambridge Dictionary splayed on the table, open at a certain page. "I was right."

"Oh, well that makes for a change."

"I can't tell if you're being sarcastic or not." Sherlock states.

"At this point, neither can I. Congratulations, I guess." He felt a little disheartened at this. His mind had been whirring around the entire exchange, and he had had to make sure that he was right. She was normally competitive. He quickly deduced that something was up.

"What's wrong?"

"With what?" She replies, opening a cupboard behind him.

"With you."

Silence, apart from the boiling of the water in the kettle.

"Ramona." He said, eyeing the back of her head.

"Sorry, er," She put a hand to her forehead. "Feeling a little faint, is all."

Sherlock stood up immediately, approaching her and taking a gentle hold of her arm to manuever her to face him. Unfortuanately her arm was sore, and she hissed in a breath through her teeth, pulling it away from him.

"Oh. I didn't know you gave blood."

Ramona didn't want to talk about it. Not to him. "I do now."

He read her expression for a moment. "What type are you, then?"

"Er... A." She guessed. Who actually knew their blood type, anyway?

"Wrong. O." As Sherlock looked deeper into her eyes, searching for the truth, she blinks in surprise. "How do you not know your own blood type? What if you need a blood transfusion?"

"How'd you know my blood type?"

"Because I do."

She rolled her eyes. "What a sound explanation."

Sherlock sighed, turning her arm to inspect the plaster over the pressure bandage.

"Can you remember how you got home?"

"I did this strange thing called walking. You should try it sometime."

"I might." He leans forward and down suddenly as she exhales, inhaling deeply through his nose and all but shoving his nose in her mouth as he smells her breath in the most invasive way possible.

"Sherlock!" She cries, stepping back.

"What?"

"Ew!"

He rolls his eyes. "You smoked on the way home, didn't you?"

"Yeah, why?"

"You're not supposed to after you've had blood taken, you moron." Admittedly this snipped at her a little, as he took a glass out of the cupboard and went over to the sink, turning on the tap to fill it full of water.

"Oh, I didn't know."

"Obviously not. Didn't the nurse tell you not to?"

"...No."

"Can't have been a very good one, then."

"He was very nice, actually." Ramona says, pouting a little as she remembers the very pleasant nurse.

"Drink this." Sherlock tells her, handing her the glass of water. She looks down at it.

"Is it my birthday?" She asks, jokingly. He rolls his eyes again as she takes it. "Why do I need this?"

"Helps your body to replace the blood quicker when you're hydrated." He pauses. "Didn't you pay attention at school?"

"I guess not, no." She stops for a moment, looking up at him in rare sincerity. "Thanks, Sherlock."

"No problem. Just, don't go fainting all over the flat. Please."

"I'll try my hardest, since you asked so nicely." He smiles as he goes to sit back at the table, turning his attention back to the book.

Ramona takes a mouthful of the water as she studies the back of his, his shoulder plates pulling at the fabric of his shirt and making them visible, his hair always those perfectly unruly curls. She went to peer over his shoulder and look at the book he was reading, eyes widening on seeing what it was.

"Christ, is that Latin?"

"It's impolite to read over people's shoulders, y'know."

"Yeah, because you're such a man of manners, Sherlock. Really though, Latin?"

"I was translating it, until you so rudely interrupted."

"Why?"

"For fun." He turned to look at her. "Obviously."

"Latin-translating - fun for the whole family!" She exclaims.

"If you're planning on continuing with that witless babble you can do it somewhere else."

"Fine, fine." She says, going over to the fridge and perusing its sparse contents for something to eat.

"What was the blood test for?" Sherlock's voice broke the silence.

"I thought you were reading."

"A BRCA gene test? Anemia? Hepatitis? HIV?" He suggests, and she sighs quietly.

"For fuck's sake Sherlock, I do not have anemia, breast cancer, or a sexually transmitted disease."

"Thank God." He murmurs, and Ramona has to literally bite her tongue. "What was it, then?" She cracked the egg on the side of the pan, then breaking it above and watching as it started to sizzle on the hot surface.

"Hormone test." She says quietly, realising that she was saving him the hassle of going through her medical records.

A beat of silence, and then: "Ah."

"Yep. Nothing to worry about."

"I wasn't worrying." It was immediate, as if a reflex.

"Okay." Ramona tried not to notice the awkward air surrounding them. She wondered if it was all he could think about, just like her, the time that they spent together closer than ever. However, she had to remind herself that this was in fact Sherlock Holmes, celebrated celibate king of London, master of self-control and suppression.

"You..." His voice trailed. "You want children?"

"Just curious, really."

"I suppose you are touching thirty, that's around the time women start getting broody." Sherlock says, nonchalantly.

"You make it sound as if I'm drinking at the last-chance saloon."

"Oh, no. More having a bite to eat at the 'is it that time already? Bar and grill'." She grins. "You're twenty-seven, after all, just about in the middle of a woman's fertility peak."

"Please stop talking."

"I'm just trying to do what friends do."

"And what would that be?"

Sherlock shrugs. "Reassure you, I think."

She laughed, which surprised them both. "Well as great a job as your doing, it's really not an issue for me at the moment."

"Well, just be quick about it, if you're planning on contributing to the issue of over-population. By thirty-one your chances will drop by three percent every year, once you hit thirty-five the decline will accelerate further - once you're forty the chance of conceiving is around two-in-five."

"I'm not even going to ask why you know that."

"I know everything, that's how."

Ramona pauses in thought. "It's not as if I even have room for them. I've already got one kid to take care of." Sherlock frowns, looking up at her in confusion. He catches on as he sees the pointed stare directed at him.

"Oh, shut up."

"You still call your mum 'mummy'." Ramona pointed out.

"Is there a problem with that?" There was a certain defensiveness that made her laugh.

"No, none at all."

"Keep it that way." Sherlock was smirking now, turning back to his book. He glances at her as she sits down opposite him and then back down, trying not to think about the proximity of their knees under the table.

"Been bored today, by any chance?"

"Excruciatingly so."

A heartbeat of silence.

"Can you teach me Latin?"

"I thought you'd never ask." Sherlock smiles warmly.

**###########################################**

The dark streets seemed lonely. The cold bit at her and numbed her extremities, earphones blaring and blocking out the perpetual rumble of the city.

Ramona stopped for a moment on a road she didn't recognise, resting her hands on her knees and taking a moment to catch her breath.

A tap on her shoulder made her jump. She span around to see Tom from the gym, on his own run, it would seem.

He said a few things that she couldn't hear before she took out her earphones.

"I've been trying to get your attention for, like, ten minutes!" He exclaimed, his voice breathy, as he pushed his light hair out of his face.

"Sorry." She apologized with a small laugh. "Earphones."

"No worries. So, why're you running at this hour?" He asked, and they both started to walk side-by-side.

"Oh, just for exercise."

"Please, no one runs at this time of day for a stretch of their legs."

She raised her eyebrows, but then nodded. "Fine, fine. Just thinking some things through."

"About?"

"Er... everything, really." Technically, this wasn't an aversion. "What about you?"

"Just found out my fiance's pregnant."

Her heart jumps and she stops, grinning at him and putting a hand on his shoulder. "No way! Congratulations, mate! Have you been trying for a while?"

Tom returns the smile, although it wasn't all there. "That's exactly the problem. We haven't." Ramona paused, biting her lip.

"Well, the way I see it, you're never fully ready for anything of that magnitude, not really. Stuff like that happens when it's ready, not when you are." She saw him think about this for a moment.

"Yeah..." His face seemed to lighten up in the darkness. "Yeah, y'know what, you're right."

"We're gonna have to get a house in the suburbs. I was thinking either Ealing or Brent."

"You sure you wanna stay around London?"

"Why wouldn't I?"

"Where I come from, you can get a five bedroom house with a garden for the same price as a flat in London."

"Jesus."

"I know. London's like a different planet. It's just as foreign to someone on the outskirts as it might be to someone in France."

"I've only ever lived here and Essex."

"Essex?"

"Yeah. Before I co-owned the gym I used to do oddjobs, but mostly we used to do tarmac jobs. Y'know, laying the black stuff."

"Interesting." She lied. It was at this point her phone came to life in her pocket, and she stopped to look at it.

**Baker Street. Hurry. - SH**

She frowned in light concern, but wasted no time in rushing back home after saying goodbye to Tom.

**###########################################**

"What's wrong?" Ramona burst into the flat in a panting mess, to see Lestrade sat in John's chair, holding a tissue to his bloody nose. Sherlock sat in his own chair, legs crossed.

"Oh, hi."

"Jesus, what happened?" She rushed over to the injured Lestrade, crouching by the side of the seat.

"He got punched in the face." Sherlock stated.

"No shit, Sherlock." She replied, giving him a slightly exasperated look, before turning back to Lestrade.

"Moss Hill Farm happened." He said.

"What?"

"We went up there - me, Sally, and a couple of other policemen. As soon as he saw us, Ryan Donoghue ran."

"He ran?!"

"Yep. I tried to go after him, but by this time some of them were already trying to pick a fight with me."

"But why would he run?"

"Oh, don't worry, I'm fine."

"Ah, er, sorry." Ramona gives a sheepish smile.

"Well, it's obvious, isn't it?" Lestrade asks. "Only a guilty man runs. We've started a manhunt for him."

There was silence for a moment.

"He was obsessed with her." He continues. "We went into his room, and all over the walls were nothing but pictures of her."

"Who?"

"Mary Irwin. He had a motive."

"But how did they meet?"

"I don't know."

"You came here because you want us to catch him." Sherlock says.

"Yeah - well, I want you to help us catch him."

"Please." Sherlock stands up, producing his phone from his dressing gown pocket. "I'll send an alert out to the homeless network. I'll have him located in twelve hours, at the most."

"And I'll... watch him do that." Ramona says, feeling inadequate all of a sudden.

"Thanks." Lestrade stands up. "Now, he's dangerous, so don't go confronting him without the police."

"Of course." Sherlock replies, and he doesn't have to change his tone for the other two to know he was being sarcastic.

"Right, well, I'll see you later." He said.

"Bye." Ramona walks Lestrade to the door, and watches as he starts down the stairs.

She turns back to the flat, closing the door behind her, her eyes steadily on Sherlock's back.

"Can I say something, Sherlock?"

"Yes."

"I don't think he did it."

"Good." He paused. "Because neither do I."

* * *

**Sorry for the short chapter!**

**I've been busy with a few other projects after my holiday, so yeah.**

**Thank you for reading, even more if you decide to leave a review :)**


	74. Hold Me Down

**Hold Me Down - Halsey**

* * *

Ramona stood in her bedroom, on a caffeine and sugar high, her mind buzzing with focus, looking down at all different sheets of paper, which included things such as receipts and bank statements, all the way to screenshots taken from surveillance cameras all around the city. Earphones blared in her ears, playing classical music which always helped her to truly concentrate, her eyes flitting from each piece of paper on the floor.

She jumped when she felt a tap on her shoulder.

She took a moment to register that it was in fact Sherlock, taking out her earphones and placing her phone on her bed before she could find her tongue, gather her thoughts and remember which language in which to speak to him.

"Did I interrupt you?" He asks, eyebrow raised in light curiosity at whatever she had been doing.

"Would it matter if you had?"

Sherlock thought for a moment. "No, probably not."

"I'll get a lock for my door if you do that again." She remarked nonchalantly. In response he snorted with incredulous laughter.

"Ooh, a _lock_. That'd keep me out." Ramona gave him a weirded-out look, and then turned back to her floor, back to him. "Er- sorry." He cringed at himself. What was he, some sort of predator? "I _did _knock, though."

"It's fine." She said, and his tense embarrassment eased up a little.

"What's this, then?" Desperate to change the topic, it seemed.

"Rearranging information to process it differently." She turned to him to face him again. "Learnt it in Uni; brilliant studying technique."

A pang of sadness mixed with guilt hit him at that. He'd never be free of the fact that he missed her graduation ceremony. Not that he cared that much, of course.

"Actually, that's a lie. I saw it on Luther, and I was wondering whether it actually worked."

"An experiment, then. How long have you been staring at it, exactly?"

"Uh..." Her brow creased in thought. "Not too sure. Time seems to sort of melt away at times like these."

"Well, let me enlighten you." Sherlock walks over to the window, pulling back the curtains suddenly, to reveal the alleyway behind Baker Street bathed in snow, the early morning sun only just starting to wink on the horizon. "It is currently eight am, and I've been waiting for my morning tea for around two hours now."

She was expressionless for a while, staring out into the street. "Really?" Then, a self-satisfied grin started to spread over her face. "That's brilliant!"

Sherlock's expression was now one of annoyance. "I thought you were asleep, so I didn't wake you. Now I come to the revelation that you've been working without me."

"Oh, someone's in a mardy." Ramona stated, weighing up just how moody he was being. "Come on, I'll fix you some tea."

"I don't want _tea_." Sherlock sounded irritated as she walked away.

Ramona stopped at the doorway, turning back round to him. "Who would have known that the World's Greatest Detective was actually just a petulant little child at heart?"

"Hopefully you did, seeing as you've known me for five years." Sherlock's nonchalant tone illuminated the fact that he knew just how moody he could be, however had given up trying to hide or even fix it. Self-acceptance was rare, and not even necessarily a good thing.

"Six in September." She adds.

"You know the date that we met?" He asks, following her to the kitchen.

"Ah, yes," She puts on a wistful tone, "the leaves were changing from green to reds and browns and golds, it was a surprisingly warm early autumn day, and the sunlight danced across the sea as the train sped past it." She pauses. "Either that, or I remember because meeting you was directly correlated with my life being plunged into peril and life-or-death situations every other week." Sherlock was smiling now, as they entered the kitchen and she approached the kettle.

"I seem to have that sort of effect on people." He says, smiling up at her as he puts one forearm on the counter beside her.

"And we love you for it. Now stop giving me that shit-eating grin and get a teacup out of the cupboard, would you?" It didn't matter though, he was fully cheered up, and happily followed her instructions.

**###########################################**

"Here's what I've been thinking about all night,-" Ramona started, after they had both gotten ready for the day and were now in the living room; her sat at the table looking at her laptop, and Sherlock tapping his fingertips on the table impatiently opposite her.

"Ryan was almost certainly framed, I know." He interrupted and finished at the same time.

"Well, I was going to go into a little more detail than a seven-word sentence, but if that's all you want said, then..."

"Oh. Uh," His pale eyes darted around the room for a second, Ramona noted his particular fidgeting and mood-swing, but tried not to investigate too deeply into it, as he was like this most of the time, anyway. "Sorry. Go on."

"Alright. Well, who would want to frame him? That's what we go on, we look at that. So, I did a bit of research, and found..." She paused for dramatic effect. "Absolutely nothing."

Sherlock rolled his eyes, leaned back and looked away. "I'd rather you not lead me on like that, even if it does add a certain mildly comedic dynamic to the case."

She sighed. "Well, the people he killed, they had no family except for the sister that he loved; the mum died ages ago. Even if she was capable of framing him, she wouldn't. She went to see him in prison for the first two years, and then she found a boyfriend that wasn't going to slaughter her family in a fit of wild rage. However, he later bailed on her when she got pregant, and now lives in a Hackney council flat with said child, George, who's now sixteen."

"She almost has as refined a taste in men as you, Ramona." He quipped.

"Funny." Ramona definitely didn't think it was funny.

"You've definitely raised a point, though. Why would they even bother to frame him, when he's got cancer? If you hated him that much, Surely you could just wait to watch him die a terrible death?"

"So it must be an attack on the family because of the family. No-one has a vendetta against Ryan."

"Someone intelligent, too. Never mind a breadcrumb trail, there isn't even a forest of mystery to get lost in."

"Is this..." Her brow furrowed. "A cold case?"

"Not yet." Sherlock said, in a determined baritone.

"You know he's got a gun, as well? He stopped by a farm, while he was running, took out a shotgun. He's armed, Sherlock... Maybe, maybe he did do it?" She frowned at the table. "After all, what sort of innocent man runs?"

"One that has no other option." There was silence for a moment. "This girlfriend that he had, he stopped seeing him in prison, but that doesn't necessarily mean that they haven't been in correspondence since."

Ramona's eyes widened in awe at him as he stood up. "Of course. She's the only other friend he has in the world right now."

"Exactly." He walks over to his coat. "I need the address of her flat, Ramona."

"On it."

**###########################################**

The snow was already turned to a disappointing shade of grey sludge by the time they got to Hackney, and as her eyes roamed all the way up to the tall flat building, she wondered just how differently things could have gone for her if she hadn't been born with the intelligence that she had. The truth was, she'd probably be working as a cashier or in retail somewhere. Of course, there was nothing particularly wrong about that, but there was still something particularly unnapealing about it.

"You know how Texas is famous for having all that oil under it, and all those stories about people in the early 20th Century just digging down, and suddenly having it spring up out of the ground?" Ramona asks, her breath making dragon-like steam in the air, as they walked closer to the building.

"Yeah," Sherlock replies, his gloved hands shoved inside his pockets, a bit curious to see where she was going with it.

"It's like London used to have that, but with concrete. In the seventies. Like they'd just dig down and these huge concrete giants would spring up and build themselves into these horrors of architecture."

"What a strange observation." He commented. "Now it's as if they've run out of the concrete, and they're finding glass instead."

"I prefer the glass buildings, though."

"The Shard's nothing more than an eyesore that can't possibly be avoided." She raised a brow and looked at him in slight surprise. "Architecture was at an infinitely better standard even just a hundred years ago. It used to be intricate and a delicate process; now it's just about who can go the highest and the pointiest." He rolls his eyes at the non-present architects.

"Oh, I don't know about that." Ramona said. "It's modern, isn't it? If we just stayed with the same stone buildings, it'd get boring. Progression isn't necessarily bad, it's just that you've been conditioned to think that if something doesn't have gargoyles it can't possibly be a feat of a building."

"Just because it's modern, doesn't make it progress."

"That's a point." She shrugs. "Since when have you been such an architecture snob, anyway?"

"I'm a snob in most areas. Do you even listen to me when I speak?"

Ramona laughs. "That's also a point." A pause. "I wonder why rich people always have to be high up. It's as if they can't just be above us in all but body, but they also have to literally look down on us."

"You should write a letter to the paper."

"I just might."

As they walk, Ramona turns and walks backwards for a moment, her eyes fixing on The Shard that was currently the subject of conversation. The name was clever but intrinsically dumb at the same time; a play on words and building, but so obvious it was as if they had decided on the name a second after giving it one look.

"We should go someday." She announced, turning back around. "It'd be good."

"What's even there?"

"I think there's a few restaurants, an office building, a hotel, and some apartments. But I'm not talking about visiting them. I mean the top. You can take the lift up. I heard the view's amazing."

"Maybe." He looks away, and she catches the corners of his mouth turning up, and finds it to be infectious. "But you're paying."

"My pleasure."

**###########################################**

Sherlock knocked on the door of flat 23 three times, the leather of his glove meeting with the chipped paint of the wood.

At first, there was nothing to signal that anyone was home. They exchanged a look, but then both looked back to the door as they heard the sound of footsteps. There was more than one pair of footsteps, alluding to the fact that whoever was home, was in fact, not alone. The rattling of a chain being taken off, and then a twist of a lock, then the actual key in the door, and suddenly they were greeted with half a face of a middle-aged woman, her cold blue eyes staring out at them.

A terrifyingly friendly smile lit up Sherlock's face as he clasped his hands together, leaning forward slightly.

"Hey there!" His voice came out softer than usual, more human. Ramona didn't like it.

"Who're you?" She responded, eyeing him warily. From behind her, the flat could be seen. Nothing special, but certainly not messy or dirty, just a little cramped. All the furniture looked either awash with dog hair or bitten and chewed at the legs. Just as Ramona deducted this, a big silver greyhound trotted up beside the woman, peering at them both with huge eyes that resembled two shiny black bowling balls.

"I'm George's new social worker, William Lohserck." Ramona had to stifle a laugh at the second name. "This is my associate, Ophelia Fitzwilliam-Croft." Her gleeful smile dropped.

"Social workers normally visit Mondays."

"Well, just a little drop-by," He aggressively smiles at her as he steps forward, forcing the woman to let him in, then walking down the hallway. "To make sure everything's in order." Ramona follows him inside.

On getting inside, they're greeted with a grimy looking teenage boy (just as most teenage boys are), slouching down on the hairy sofa, legs spread, decked out in a grey tracksuit that looked as if it had just been shoplifted from Sports Direct, his dulling attention directed at his Iphone. George scratched at the side of his unshaven jaw and then ran his hand through his brown hair.

"You must be George." Ramona starts. His eyes shift upwards, to give her an unbridled glare.

"Y'can't make me go to school." He was monotone, as if either bored out of his mind or all that weed had killed off most of his brain cells - or both. "It's fucking bullshit, all the teachers hate me for no reason."

"Fascinating." Sherlock announces, planting himself next to him on the couch and patting a hand on the boy's knee. "Do tell me more."

George slowly looked down at the gloved hand that had dared to make contact with enraged disbelief, and stared for what seemed like thirty seconds, as if trying to process what had just happened, and then looking up to Sherlock. The Detective removed his hand slowly, like he was trying to keep him calm by not making any sudden movements.

"You posh twat. Touch me again and me n' my boys'll cut your fucking hand off." He spat. For a moment Sherlock seemed to amused to react.

"When you and your 'boys' actually do anything other than ride around the estate on BMXes with cheap alcohol and commit any other crimes other than littering, noise disturbances and vandalism, I'm sure that you'll _terrify_ me." George sunk into into the couch even more, pursing his lips and staring at his phone. "Until then, I have a few questions to ask your mum." At this, the teenager spiked.

"What? What d'you wanna talk to my mum for?"

"Can you tell me about your relationship with Ryan Donoghue, Miss Galbraith?" Sherlock asks, as if completely oblivious to George.

The woman blinked, obviously not believing what she was hearing. "What?"

"Ryan Donoghue." Ramona spelled it out for her. "What can you tell us about him, Diana? Can I call you that?"

"What's that got to do with anything?"

"A lot, actually." Sherlock states. "Past trauma, even if not directly affecting George, can still hurt him if not thoroughly discussed."

"You have no business to be prying about that!"

"Oh, we do." He insists.

"If you had to take a guess, where might he be hiding right now?" Ramona asks.

There's a delayed reaction from Diana. "What?"

"Hiding." Sherlock repeats." Haven't you heard? Your psychotic little toyboy is now a fugitive, Miss Galbraith."

"A- a fugitive?" She was distressed now, putting a hand to her mouth.

"Do you know where he might be, Diana?" Ramona asks.

"What's he done?" She questions.

"What do you think?" Sherlock retorts. "Now, if you have any sort of idea as to where he could be, that'd be helpful."

"You're not social workers, are you?" She brilliantly deduces. "Your bloody journalists, aren't you!"

"Oh, you got us. All of that elaborate facade for nothing!" Sherlock exclaims sarcastically, getting up off the sofa, and clasping his hands behind his back.

"Are you sick in the head or something?! Get out of my house!"

Sherlock tilted his head to the side curiously. "Hm, aren't you defensive?"

"...Defensive? Of course I'm defensive! You've just broken into my house!" Diana cries.

"Look, get the fuck out of here before I call the fucking police!" George shouts, seemingly recovered from the inital shock, and now trying to square up to the towering detective. It had to be said, however obvious, that whatever he was trying to achieve did not work in the slightest.

"I really doubt you want to call the police, Max." Ramona blinked at Sherlock's ominous tone, her brow furrowing. Had she missed something?

Max was silent now, his mouth a straight thin line. "I don't know what you're talking about."

"Ramona, go stand outside, would you?"

She frowned harder. "What?"

"Leave for a moment."

"Sherlock, what are you talking about?"

"Oh, now you've really blown our ridiculously transparent cover." His eyes narrowed for a moment as he turned to her. "Haven't you seen? Haven't you observed?"

"Fuck. What've I missed?"

This seemed to satisfy Sherlock, a short sigh escaping him. "You'll never be quite as sharp as me, Ramona. Personally, I think the desk job's dulling you down."

"Dulling me down?!"

"Not the time." He replied. "Now, back to the fugitive." A deep breath, and he was on his own plane of existence. An suddenly unstoppable force of nature. "The truth is, Diana, you never stopped loving him, did you?"

"Excuse me?!"

"Come on. Admit it. You hated your family, anyway. Always did. So when your boyfriend killed them off, you were sort of relieved. In a tight spot, yeah, but relieved, nonetheless. You visited him in prison for years, of course you still held sentiment towards him. But, when George came along, and obviously Ryan wasn't the father, that sort of ruined things, didn't it?" Everyone looked a different level of outrage at what he had just stated. "So, he gets released, you stay in contact, although you never meet. And then, in the second month of 2015, when your son's all grown up, he comes," Sherlock goes over to the bathroom door and kicks it open, and Ramona realises what he's talking about. "And knocks on your door." He checks the bathroom, and then moves to the door next to it. "Says he's in trouble. Asks for help. What could you do, apart from help him?" He opens the next door, and on finding nothing, turns to the last door on the other side of the room, staring at it with a smirk.

What happened next was a bit of a blur.

The door suddenly burst open, and standing there was Ryan Donoughue, an old shotgun in his hands, staring wildly at them.

Ramona seemed to react quicker than even she could comprehend.

But the trigger was already being pulled.

As the gun went off, Ramona was throwing herself onto Sherlock to bring him to the ground.

A few seconds of confusion and chaos.

Her eyes were screwed shut, but when she opened them, Ramona found that for some reason everything was hazy, quickly interchanging between double vision each way.

The ringing seemed to be screaming in her ears, and subconsciously she brought her hand up to her forehead.

When she took her hand away, her fingertips were a deep crimson with her own blood.

Her eyes widened in fright, but before she could go into shock, she looked up to see the corner of a small table, now dripping her blood. It was obvious now that she had just banged her head on the way down.

Quickly getting up and off Sherlock, still disorientated and not being able to hear anything, she set off after the escaping fugitive.

Sherlock wasn't far behind her, as they both ran down the stairs after him.

The tip of her shoe lazily caught onto a grey step, and she felt herself starting to fall forwards. Before she could reach the ground, though, Sherlock's hand was tightly gripped around her wrist, and he was in front of her, dragging the injured and slightly concussed girl with him down the stairs.

Finally reaching the bottom, the only thing they could focus on was the back of Ryan Donoughue as he stopped fleeing, halted so quickly that they both instinctively did it too, and watched him stand still on the path, under the small graffitied walkway, his shoes stood on broken fragments of smashed bottles.

As he turned around, Ramona's heart leapt.

He now had the shotgun, but in a different position. The barrel was placed in his mouth, his finger trembling on the trigger.

"NO!" She shouted, or she thought she did, because she couldn't even hear herself speak.

She lurched forward as Ryan Donoghue squeezed his eyes shut, pushing out tears, but Sherlock's hand around her wrist might as well have been a handcuff attached to a tree, because he wasn't moving. He couldn't.

All Sherlock could do was put a hand on Ramona's back, and pull her into his chest, look away and close his eyes, as the shotgun went off for a second, final time.

She shut her eyes so tightly that she started to see multi-coloured patterns on the back of her eyelids, grabbing Sherlock and hoping his tight grip would never loosen.

**###########################################**

Ramona couldn't seem to stop shaking.

There was a new plaster on her forehead, covering up the terrible cut on her forehead that she hoped to God didn't scar, and she touched it absent-mindedly as she pulled the blanket tighter around her.

Sherlock was sat next to her on the couch at 221B, just as silent as her. He was trying, and succeeding in hiding his shock. After all, they had just seen, or perhaps just pushed, an innocent, sick man to take his own life. Well, using the term 'innocent' loosely, of course.

Mrs Hudson was making tea in the kitchen, and their delicate and slightly damaged hearing now picked up on the boiling kettle, her ambling steps roaming around on the lino.

"You don't do that again." Sherlock's first five words uttered after the incident, were, as expected, scolding.

Ramona took a moment to process what to say. "Do what?"

Sherlock was a little scared at the monotonous voice that escaped her. "You save yourself first, Ramona. I'm perfectly capable of taking care of myself."

_Oh, why of course Sherlock, you're more than welcome. Don't thank me for saving your life, just tell me off. _

"I beg to differ." It seemed that that was the end of _that _in-depth discussion.

Sherlock's Adams apple bobbed in a swallow, and he inched himself a fraction closer to her. This was pushing his luck, although he knew that he had her in a corner; if she acknowledged it, it would make it awkward, and he knew she hated that. Was this manipulative? Of course it was. This was Sherlock, after all.

There was clearly enough room on the leather couch for both of them to sit apart, and yet there they were, sat like two crammed in passengers on the rush hour tube, their arms and thighs touching. Under the blanket, Ramona had managed to get away with two fingertips lightly placed on the top of his thigh, in a way that could be played off as accidental, controlling herself, even though she ached for just a bit more contact.

"What do you want for dinner, Loves?" Mrs Hudson, although she had not been told what had happened, had used her almost mother-like sixth sense to pick up on the very obvious catatonic state of the two, and was being even more delicate than usual.

"Not hungry." Sherlock said.

"Can we get fish and chips?" Ramona asked.

"You don't have to ask me." Mrs Hudson replied.

"Could you please pick it up for me, if I give you the money?"

"Of course. What would you like?"

"Medium fish. Two portions of chips. Mushy peas. Dandelion and burdock. And a teacake, if they sell them."

"Two portions of chips?" Sherlock questioned, who had been watching her closely through the entire order.

It was strange, but at times like these, he reveled and nothing could please him more to do nothing more than simply watch her talk, watch her breathe. To observe her spidery and orchestrated, yet at times clumsy movements, to hear her different tones of voice and watch the gentle rise and fall of her shoulders chest. He knew it was monstrously creepy, and yet he couldn't bring himself to stop.

"You always pick off my plate, even when you say you're not hungry. It's for you." He went to retaliate, but instead, agreed, with a small nod. "My purse is on the the kitchen table. There should be enough cash for something for yourself, too." She tells Mrs Hudson.

"Ooh, thank you." The landlady takes Ramona's purse from the kitchen table. "Won't be long." With this, she leaves.

The two are left in close silence, that seems both comfortable and constricting at the same time.

"What if he really was framed, Sherlock?" She asked quietly, almost too quiet to be audible.

"I don't know..." A minute shake of his head. "I'm sorry, I don't know." An unfamiliar and uncomfortable notion, but true.

"We... What if we..." Ramona couldn't seem to bring herself to really say it out loud, her voice trailing off.

"Torturing yourself won't do you any good now, Ramona. We focus on solving the case."

"But everyone's going to think that he's the one that did it. To them, it'll be solved."

"Until we find the real killer." He reassured, and for some reason, this made her feel better. And then, there was a hand on hers, under the blanket. Looking up at him in shock, she saw that he didn't even acknowledge what was happening. So, neither did she. All Ramona did was turn her hand up to his, and put her fingers in between his.

"I have to go to work tomorrow." She stated, after a few minutes, now feeling a little drowsy from all the stress.

"You can't."

"I have to."

"Ramona, you have a concussion." He insisted. "You can't even go to sleep tonight."

"It's not that bad."

"Better not to risk it, nonetheless." Ramona swore she could feel his heartbeat in his fingertips.

Another comfortable several minute silence.

"I'm going to get fired."

"Why?"

"Because I'm never bloody there."

He chuckled lowly, and she felt the lovely, low shuddering of his chest as he did. How could someone be so cold to some, yet so comforting to others? How was he able to swap between his two personas so smoothly?

"Sherlock, how did you know that he was there?"

"Oh, I thought you'd never ask! It was the coat."

"The coat?"

"The men's coat on the coat hanger, specifically. Did you really not see it?"

Ramona sunk into the blanket further. "I'm an idiot."

"Yes." He agreed. "But you're the cleverest idiot I've ever met."

She sighed. "Do you have to be so..." Ramona shook her head in a loss for words, deciding not to say the word that came into her head.

The rest of the evening was spent eating Fish and Chips straight from the newspaper, and dozing off under the blanket next to each other.

**###########################################**

The next morning, Ramona was sat in her office.

Regardless of what had been said the previous night, there was no way she was going to survive for long on the £154.73 she had in the bank, even for the next week. She briefly wondered when they would start charging to breath London air.

She sighed, massaging her temples, before turning on the Mac at her desk. Her office had a fairly good city view, the glass giant itself was located in Canary Wharf, and lucky for her, Tower Bridge was visible from the floor-to-ceiling window. The other wall was occupied and populated with nothing but a lot of law books, from the historical ones, that were there for nothing more than decoration, to the actually useful, modern one, dispersed strategically throughout the old ones.

Ramona typed in her password, and began scrolling through her emails, yawning into her hand and wondering what Sherlock was doing. Had he even woken up? Lucky sod.

As she began replying to an email concerning a dull divorce settlement case, the door burst open.

Hearing the door open, she didn't bother to look up.

"Hi, Laura. Did you ring Andrew to book that table at Hotel Six for the meeting concerning the Frasing divorce?"

"Who's Andrew?" At the voice Ramona jumped in her seat, heart leaping, looking up with wide eyes.

"Sherlock!" She wasn't sure whether it was excitement or shock that made her cry his name, but she blushed nonetheless, as he approached her. "I-I... Sherlock." Her tone was more business-like now. "Why're you here?"

He shrugged, sitting down in the seat on the other side of her desk, and leaning back, clasping his hands together in his lap.

"Just passing through. Thought I might... pop in."

"Pop... in?" She repeated, brow creased. "Sorry, you were passing through Canary Wharf?"

"I thought you'd be more grateful for a bit of relief from all this boredom."

She smiled, shaking her head. "I'm not _bored_, Sherlock."

"Really?" He paused. "Posture is very telling, isn't it?"

Ramona straightened up. "Whatever."

"You've got a nice view, haven't you?" He looks out of the window again.

Ramona studied his profile. "Yeah, really gorgeous." She clears her throat, and turns her attention back to the computer screen. "Really though, you can't just wander in. Did you break in? And you can't stay for long, I've got a client coming at two."

An eye-roll of epic proportions from Sherlock. "I have a case, for God's sake. A good one. Isn't that a bit more important than whatever it is you do here? You're ruining it, being all... adult and busy." He spat the last words as if they were vulgar.

"And we'll get to your scary clingy-ness in the therapy session that I am definitely going to book for you. But for now..." She glanced at the door as a hint.

Sherlock raised his eyebrows, trying not to smile. Their gazes lock, and for a moment, Ramona really thought something was about to happen.

"Your PA is terrible." He states suddenly, changing the subject. "You should fire her."

"Laura's great, thank you very much."

"Is she really? Is 'Laura' _really_ that great? Because I managed to get past her."

"Who on earth should I be scared about coming into my office? Unscheduled clients? I tremble at the thought!"

At this point, there was a knock on the door.

"Come in!" Ramona calls.

A woman appears, her dark red hair in a neat updo, in a simple pencil skirt and blouse ensemble and a silver necklace, that looked almost as delicate as the collarbone it was placed on.

"O-oh!" She looked completely horrified as she set her eyes on Sherlock, and sounded it, too. "Who on earth is this? Who are you? A client?"

"Yes." Sherlock lied. "Now if you could leave us in peace for just one moment, please."

Ramona rolled her eyes. "Sherlock, this is Laura, my PA. Laura, this is Sherlock, my..."

"Careful," He teased.

"Acquaintance." She struggled not to laugh at his expression.

"A-!" Sherlock stifled himself, before sinking lower into his chair, pouting miserably.

"Sh-Sherlock? What a funny name!" She giggled musically, and it was suddenly at Sherlock's attention that this was the sort of woman that men clamored after. Silly, posh and a bit airy, but put-together enough to organize herself and them.

"It's certainly unique, let's put it that way."

"I like it, though." A playful smile across her face, unable to take her eyes off Sherlock. "Makes you, sort of... interested."

"Really? Because that's exactly the opposite of what I am at this point in time." He then proceeded to give her a grin that a Cheshire Cat would've been proud of. Laura blinked once, and then looked at Ramona.

"Miss Doherty, if you're working on your lunch break, would you like me to bring you something from the cafe across the street?"

"Oh, that won't be necessary." Sherlock announces.

"It wont?"

"No. You're spending your lunch hour with me."

Ramona sighed, and looked to Laura. "Sorry, could we just..."

"Oh, yes, of course." She quickly exited, all of the time Ramona staring at Sherlock in a way that implied death.

"Look, Sherlock, I'll play with you later, alright, but for now the adults have to work."

"You know, I can't tell if you're referring to me as your pet or your child."

"Seriously, my in-tray is a bloody mountain at the moment. I have loads of paperwork to fill out and-"

"Take a break, Ramona, or you may find that you become one of them."

"One of who?"

"The... normal people." Once again, a completely usual word that was spat out like a bad taste.

"Maybe I _want_ to be a normal person, Sherlock." He looked at her as if she had gone insane. "I'm a bit tired of all this-"

"What, excitement? Things that _don't_ make you fall asleep?"

"What d'you want me to do? Quit my job so I can run around London with you all day and be broke?"

Sherlock simply stared at her, letting her words ring out in her ears and dissolve into the silence. A long, heavy sigh from Ramona.

"Sorry. I'm sorry." She repeated. "It's just... you don't care, it's just things." Standing up, she takes the suit jacket from off the back of her chair and puts it on. "Yeah, let's go to lunch. That'd be nice."

"I never wanted to _go to lunch_, Ramona."

She paused, looking at him quizzically. "What is it, then?"

"The weapon. The homeless network found the weapon."

Her eyes widen, instantly fixated on another lead.

"Laura! I'm taking my lunch hour now!"

**###########################################**

"You know that this place is supposed to be haunted?" Ramona asks, walking through the cobbled path of West Highgate Cemetery.

"A cemetery? Haunted? Who would've guessed?" Sherlock quips, causing her to roll her eyes.

"You know what I mean. Ever heard of the Highgate vampire?" She claws her hands in front of her face and bares her teeth, giving a little growl in a faux-vamp sort of way that makes him shake his head.

"I don't concern myself with trivia, Ramona. I only have room for things of the utmost importance."

"Sometimes trivia is the most interesting stuff, though."

"I have yet to see that."

"Oh, come off it. Your entire profession is nothing but trivia. Who cares what happened to the dead people? Reminder; no one. They're dead."

"Then why are you so interested?"

This seemed to shut her up.

The cemetery felt more like a jungle than what it really was. Seemingly on a different plain to the city, and even though there were no leaves on the trees, the bare branches covered them overhead completely.

They reached the catacombs quickly. The corridor of underground, little tombs, had long fallen into disuse and antique status since Victorian times, and it was strangely sad to find insignificant resting places for people that had lived such large lives.

Two teenager stood at the end of the corridor, one of them holding their wrist, both of them wearing gloveless fingers with hoodies.

"Where is it?" Asked Sherlock simply, not bothering with other pleasantries.

"In there." The ginger, slightly spotty teen replied with, pointing over to a particular tomb, one that had had some of its stone cover broken off at the head.

"Wait, why were you two down here in the first place?"

"We wanted to see a real skeleton." Stated the wrist-holding teen simply. "Thought it'd be cool."

With all that Ramona had seen and heard in the last few days, they could have said that they were performing a ritual to make a deal with Lucifer himself to raise the dead, and she wouldn't have batted an eyelid. She was having _that _sort of week.

Without further ado, Ramona approached the tomb, and stuck her hand into the broken off hole, just large enough for her small hand to fit through.

She immediately regretted it. And Sherlock had predicted that she would, judging by his annoyingly smug expression. Her slightly numb fingertips were greeted with the rough, but oddly smooth stretch of bones, and she had to guard off from the thoughts of spider's nests growing and festering in the corners of coffins, perhaps accidentally sticking her hand into a spider's egg and releasing hundreds of the little buggers up onto her arm, having to set herself on fire to feel clean again-

"Ah!" Ramona exclaimed, a sharp end of broken bone slitting all the way up her forearm, feeling the instantly sickening slick of hot blood.

"Cut yourself?"

She hissed in a breath. "Yep. God, I hope I don't get haunted for this." But still Ramona persevered, and after a bit more disrespectful rummaging around the corpse, her palm meets with a rubber handle. She slowly pulls it out, until she produces a cattle gun from the tomb.

"Your arm, Ramona." Sherlock didn't seem that interested in the weapon, more of what was holding it. There was a long cut running up the outside of her forearm, and the blood was a streaming, hot line of crimson, meandering off onto the ends of her fingers and eventually forming little splashes of the stuff on the dirty stone floor.

"Oh, brilliant." She cursed under her breath at the sight of her own blood, and so much of it, too. Too much. "That's a lot of blood, isn't it?"

"It went straight through your coat." He states, about to take it, before whipping his head back to the two kids, watching them in light interest. He digs a hand into his pocket, produces his wallet, and pays the two boys, and then gestures for them to leave. They do as instructed.

By the time Sherlock looked back round, the blood flow was slowing, and Ramona was forcing a smile through the mounting pain, and the feel of drying blood all up her arm.

"Come on, we can't see it properly in this light." She said, and started to walk to the stairs, and up into the daylight outside.

However, she was greeted with a sight that she'd never have thought to have seen there.

Tom sat on a big tomb, almost completely drowning in the overbearing foliage that was wrapping itself around it, his large, cut-at-the-knuckles hand resting on a stone resting dog.

From behind her, Sherlock frowned at him.

"Tom?" She asks, her tone inquisitive, almost disbelieving.

He seemed to jump a little at first; he had obviously thought that he was alone. Tom was sat

"Ramona?" He seemed just as perplexed as she was, but that same easy smile was soon upon his face again, as he approached them. Ramona felt Sherlock bristle behind her, and for a moment she realised what onlookers of the two must see; a ridiculously small woman, with an equally ridiculously large looking man looming ominously behind her, as if he was an evil familiar, his cutting gaze staring right into you.

"You know this man?" Sherlock asks quietly, although not quietly enough to not be obnoxious.

"From the gym. He owns it."

Tom grins up at Sherlock, outstretching a hand to him. Sherlock steps out from behind Ramona and shakes his hand, although keeping that charade of stone about him, just in case.

"What are you doing here, Tom?" Ramona asked.

"Oh, just coming to visit."

"It's closed to the public, though." She stated.

"Maybe, but I've never really paid much attention to rules." A cheeky grin now.

"Who are you visiting?" The detective asked.

"Oh, er-" He looked to the tomb that he was sat on, and stood up, as if only now realising that it was in fact a tomb, not a bench. "Andy Sawers. He was a bare knuckle boxer, the biggest of his time. This is where he's buried. It's inspiring, really, he was small, just like me, but he took on the big men, and won. No weight divisions back then, you see."

"Interesting." Sherlock lied. "How do you know about this place?"

"Hm? Oh, I did some work up here, for one of my dad's mates. Just the cash-in-hand sort of thing. The black stuff - laying driveways."

At the last word something sparked in both of the detective's minds, although it was behind a veneer of distraction that had caused them to forget such an important detail.

"You do any work at Primrose Hill?"

"Primrose hill?" He cocked his head in innocent confusion.

"The gated community-" She turns and points off into the trees. "That way. Six houses, only one lived in."

He paused, thinking. "No, no. It was further out. Hadley Wood, like. But I like to wander."

**###########################################**

The dead family's house stood eerily still in the cold wind, as if a headstone of its own.

Ramona had to jog a little to keep up with Sherlock's fast strides of his long legs, but as they finally reached the house, the answer they had already been looking for was now clear.

The other driveways in the small community - all of them marked and scratched with time, greyed and dull, weathered. The Irwin's driveway, was, however, a different story.

"It's new." Sherlock announces, crouching down and running his fingers across the dark, jet black asphalt, unmarked and clean-looking.

_"It was further out. Hadley Wood."_ Tom's voice echoes around in her mind.

"That lying little bastard." Ramona shakes her head. "Who was he trying to protect?"

**###########################################**

Getting home, both Sherlock and Ramona were surprised to find a visitor sat in Sherlock's chair, a cup of tea, courtesy of Mrs Hudson, warming her delicate, soft hands.

Claudia Keating's perfectly slender body was adorned in a silk peach blouse, tucked into blue flared jeans, her tan teddy coat hung up downstairs. She stands up as they enter.

"Hello." Her silkl voice roamed delicately over her words. "Sorry if I..." She seemed to lose those words, as Ramona took off her coat, putting it on the back of the dining room chair. Sherlock took off his own, and watched the model carefully. "S-sorry if I'm intruding." The strange blush was visible across her pale cheeks, making Ramona frown in light confusion.

"It's fine, don't worry." She reassured her, pulling out a chair for her to sit at, instead of Sherlock's chair.

"Oh- thank you." She took the seat with a sheepish smile, although avoiding direct eye contact with Ramona at all costs.

"What did you want to talk to us about?" Ramona asks, as Sherlock goes to the kitchen.

"You haven't got any leads on where Callister is, have you?"

"We..." She bit her lip. "Not exactly. We have a maybe-lead."

"Do you think he's dead?" It was almost blurted out, although it was the elephant in the room.

"Um, well,-"

"What you have to understand, Claudia, is that thousands of children go missing every year in England. This isn't an isolated case, or an exception. To find him alive after all this time, however, would be an exception." Sherlock said bluntly, his voice hitting harshly from the kitchen.

Claudia's delicate chin starts to wobble a little, and she starts to fiddle meticulously with an expensive looking silver ring on her thumb, turning it and taking it on and off, eyes wide, staring into the nothingness. Ramona feels anger sparking in her blood, and she shoots Sherlock a look of death.

"Get out, Sherlock." She orders. His mouth falls open in outrage, but after a few moments, he huffs, and does as he's told. "Sorry about him. He's not exactly got an impeccable bedside manner, let's put it that way."

"I've noticed." A small, teary giggle.

"Don't listen to him, though. If anything, this is an isolated case. It's a paradox within itself. Don't worry, Claudia," Ramona puts a cold hand over Claudia's, causing her to look up at her in shock. "We'll find him."

"It's just been such a long time."

"I promise you, we're doing everything that we can."

"Th-thank you." For a moment they were locked in baring eye contact, and then Claudia quickly looked away, leaving Ramona as confused as ever.

"Why are you really here, Claudia?" She asked, softly.

A heartbeat of silence. "I have to go." Claudia gets up quickly, going over to her coat.

"Wait, Claudia-"

But she was already gone.

Ramona sighed, turning back, as Sherlock came inside.

"What did she say?"

"Nothing much. She was all mysterious and ridiculously pretty... nothing new." An alert on her phone told her that she was needed back at the office. "I have to go."

"What?"

"I have to go." She repeated, going over to her coat and pulling it on.

"But we haven't-"

"Look, book a table at Angelo's or something, and we'll discuss it there this evening. Right now I really have to go."

He looked defeated, disappointed.

"Alright."

And then Sherlock was left on his own, staring out at the door that Ramona had left through only milliseconds before.

**###########################################**

Ramona was walking towards Angelo's from the office.

It was cold, as per usual, and it was already dark, which was no surprise. All in all, the uncomfortable conditions were expected and actually, quite comfortable.

What would she say to Sherlock? Was it going to be awkward? Was she dressed right? What if it started to rain? Her coat didn't have a hood, that would be-

What was that in her pocket?

Producing the mystery item and holding it in front of her, Ramona quickly realised that this wasn't her coat.

It was Claudia's. And so was the bracelet she had found in the pocket.

The coats were, admittedly, almost identical, and she felt a tinge of pride at the fact that she had practically the same coat as a celebrity high-fashion model.

She stopped to regain her thoughts, and then turned and started walking the other way she had been going, towards Fitzroy Square, where she knew that Claudia lived. If she took Devonshire Street and then Carburton Street, she could be there in around fifteen minutes, depending on how fast she walked.

Ramona arrived at the house in 16 minutes.

Fitzroy Square was the quintessential image of old money in London. Tall white terraced houses that cost millions of wasted pounds, with a circle of greenery in the middle, and black glossy doors with bronze lion knockers and flanked with topary shrubs.

She knocked on the door three times, and the door opened after 13 seconds of waiting out in the cold.

Claudia was, again, the vision of beauty and absolute radiance. Even though she was only dressed in a designer, grey knitted jumper and the same flaired jeans, she looked as if she had just stepped off the catwalk, or out of a magazine cover. She appeared gobsmacked, or almost embarrassed at the sight of Ramona, and the same blush crept up her perfect complexion.

"Hello. Sorry for disturbing you at an hour like this, but... I seem to have your coat." Ramona laughed lightly, and Claudia smiled warmly at her. It was such a smile that it was the sort of breathtaking that knocked the air straight from your lungs, like a winding punch.

"O-oh, silly me, I must have taken yours! Come... come in, please. You must be freezing." She stepped aside and opened the door wider.

"I'm not intruding, am I?" Ramona asks, as she walks up the three steps and into the hallway. The hallway was long and it had a french tiled floor, almost like a mosaic at their feet, a rectangular mirror on the right hand wall, and taking up half of it at the back was a staircase.

"No, no, it's fine. I'm, um," Claudia took Ramona's coat - or hers - and put it on the hanger. "I'm mainly just working. I can't really seem to be able to focus at all recently."

Claudia leads her into the kitchen, a large, airy place with wooden flooring and mainly glass at the exterior wall, looking out at the surprisingly big, well kept garden.

"This is a really nice place." She remarks, wondering if Sherlock would approve a new kitchen. Maybe just a painted wall. Oh, wait. She was supposed to be with him in ten minutes, wasn't she?

"Thanks," Claudia was still smiling, almost beaming. "I bought it two years ago. Coffee?"

"Oh, if it isn't much trouble, thanks."

"No problem. How'd you take it?"

"Just a cappuccino, please." Ramona watched, slightly awkwardly, as Claudia used the expensive coffee machine. A few moments later she had a small glass mug of coffee, handing it to Ramona. It was fine. She'd be five minutes late, so what? Five minutes was nothing to Sherlock. He'd probably forget to turn up, anyway.

"Do you like Fitzrovia, then?"

"Oh, God, yeah." Claudia's blush only got darker. "I love it. It's beautiful, a testament to old London. Karl Marx and George Orwell with their dreams too brilliant for their times, and Bob Dylan, The Rolling Stones and The Sex Pistols all playing their small clubs before they made it big. Brilliant."

"You put it so romantically, Mona."

She blinked. "Mona?"

"Oh! Um, sorry, do you, er, not like being called that?"

"No, I, er, don't particularly mind, I was just wondering how you knew it."

Claudia bit her lip. "I've been following you, actually." Her eyes widened. "Not in that way, not physically, I just mean... you're in the papers a lot, and, well, I think you're quite interesting."

Ramona put down the coffee on the kitchen island. "So are you."

"In-In the papers a lot?"

"Yes, but... I also think that you're quite interesting, too."

That was when Claudia kissed her.

It was awkward and desperate at first, the sort that could only be done after years of abstinence and a sudden destructive yearning.

But then their lips met properly, and Claudia was pushing her back and to the couch near the wall.

Ramona had zero idea of what was happening. Was this actually happening? Was _the_ Claudia Keating actually kissing her?

But then Ramona was on her back and Claudia was undressing her as fast was as humanly possible, and everything was sort of a dizzy blur. She put her hands on Claudia's shoulders, and-

_"Promise me you'll never take another." A nimble hand on the clasp of her bra._

_"What?" She gasps at the shock of the hungry mouth at her neck, kissing and then sucking and biting at her skin, leaving a dark purple mark._

_"I never want anyone else to see you like this. Ever." The dark and husky voice. "Only me. No one else. Just me."_

_"J-just you."_

"Stop."

Claudia froze, breaking away and looking down at her.

"W-what?"

"I'm sorry, Claudia." She said, standing up and trying to ignore the deep blush on the top of her cheeks.

"Are you going?"

"I'm sorry." All she could seem to do was apologize. At least she still had manners, even if she didn't have free will.

"No, please, Mona..." She stands up. "I'm sorry if I went too far, but please, stay a while longer."

"I can't."

"Y-you know that stuff like this is really hard for me, right? And, and you're just going to leave?"

Ramona frowned, turning back to her as she buttoned her shirt back up. "Why is it hard for you?"

"I-" She stopped herself. "It's fine. Just go." Her expression was so desperately hopeless, Ramona worried she might shatter.

"Claudia? What was it you wanted to tell me?"

"It doesn't matter."

"Have you been...?" Ramona couldn't form the words, as if too unspeakable.

"Only when I was a child."

A pang ran through Ramona at an ear-shattering decibel.

"Claudia, what happened to you?"

"Just go!" She exclaimed, pointing to the door. Ramona grabbed her wrist and pulled her sleeve down, to reveal that morbid trademark of silver self-harm.

"Claudia..." She was breathless with shock. "You were abused?"

She tore her arm away from Ramona's grip, looking downwards. "Please..." A voice so small she couldn't be sure she heard it in the first place.

"Who was it?"

She said nothing.

"I need to know who it was." _So I can kill him. _"Your father. Was it your dad, Claudia?"

"No!" She exclaimed, looking up in anger now. "No! I- my father, I love my father. He's a good man."

"Then it was..." Ramona's mouth parts in shock.

_Kincain._

And then Ramona was walking out of the house, and despite Claudia calling out to her to stop, she was already gone, blended in with the night.

Now walking towards The Langham, where she knew Kincain was staying, she called Sherlock.

Nine rings, and then it rang out.

Obviously.

Ramona decided to leave a message.

"It's Kincain! I don't know how, but he's linked. It's him. The Langham. Be there, because I won't wait for you."

**###########################################**

Ramona banged on The Langham door suite, ignoring the Do Not Disturb sign hung at the doorknob.

"Leave it outside!" She heard him shout.

Ramona kept knocking.

"Get that door, you stupid whore!"

_Charming._

A woman she recognised answered the door. Who was it?

Oh, it was the prostitute, from Brad Irwin's apartment.

Charlotte.

And she was drunk. Sloppy, clumsy drunk. The sort of drunk that you get when you need to do something that you really don't want to do. The kind of intoxicated that Nazi firing squads were.

But then, as she followed Charlotte into the hotel suite that felt more like a flat, she realised that that wasn't the only thing intoxicating her. A small white foil and plastic container of little white pills.

Rohypnol.

Had she purposely walked into the tiger's wide open jaw?

Kincain Keating was sat at a curved leather couch, staring out onto the city from the ceiling to floor windows. He turned as Ramona walked into the room, and if he was surprised or scared, he didn't show a hint of it.

"I want to talk about your sister, Kincain." Her voice was menacing.

"Oh, hold off the questions, wont you? I'm trying to enjoy myself, even if it is just for one moment."

"Enjoy yourself? What, by hiring a prostitute, drugging her, and sitting by yourself in an expensive hotel suite?"

"How else would I have fun?" He seemed genuinely perplexed.

"Your sister, Kincain."

"I have two sisters, Detective. Which one do you want to discuss?"

"Depends on which one you abused more."

Instead of whatever she predicted he would do, he simply laughed.

"I have never laid a finger on my sisters, Detective."

"You'll forgive me if I don't take your word for it, Keating."

"I went to school with your boyfriend. Aren't you at all curious to know what he was like?"

"Surprisingly, I want to rack your brains more on how you killed the Irwin family more than what Sherlock was like at school."

Kincain stood up, and Ramona fought the instinct to back away as he approached her, the blond-haired man looming large above her, intimidating in his expensive suit. She wondered briefly what his reaction would be if she told him how she had been kissing his sister only fifteen minutes ago, but then decided against it.

"You don't scare me, Keating."

"But why would you say that out of the blue if I didn't?"

There was a silver room service trolley next to her that a bottle of champagne in a bucket of ice.

"Confess and you might get less time."

"Why would I confess to something I haven't done?" He leaned to the side of her, to the room service trolley.

"Don't play dumb with me, Keating. I know exactly-"

And then, Ramona was knocked to the floor.

Kincaid stood above her body, clutching at the bottle of champagne.

A grin split his face.

* * *

**I'm back!**

**Sorry for the long wait, school has been so busy, but I have the next chapter all ready! **

**Thank you for reading, even more so if you review, it really does motivate me to write more :)**


	75. Another Way To Die

**Another Way To Die - Jack White**

**I own nothing!**

* * *

At first, it was a slow awakening.

Groggy and and heavy fog lifted, but dragged its heels as it did.

Ramona's chin was tucked into her chest, and the first thing she could make out with hazy vision was her lap, thighs clad in blue denim.

She lifted her gaze ever so slightly to the left, to see her wrist pressed to the arm of the chair, hand clawed and the rope tied around her bare skin rubbing unpleasantly at the bone.

"She's awake." A single voice.

Deep and refine, well polished and so quintessentially English.

Kincain Keating.

Her gaze shot upwards, and settled on his face. He was stood at the other side of the room, hands in the trouser pockets of his expensive, tailored suit, leaning up against the wall.

Where was she?

Reeling back her head and trying to concentrate through the blinding murkiness, polluted smog withering her mind.

Then, she heard the sound of running water.

It was faint, but it was there. Turning her head with effort to the right, she saw the glass doors, and the darkness that smothered them. The glass walls of the Irwin household on Primrose Hill. Running water, and bells. Looking back down now, the floor was an expensive wood, and she got an eyeful of black men's dress shoes contrasting against it, as her head was pushed back roughly, by a hand hardened and calloused by years of manual labour.

And now, she stared straight into the eyes of Seamus Donoghue. One of his hands sprawled across the top of her head, fingers digging tightly in, the other held a pair of long, sharp, industrial scissors, the shiny steel of which glinted at her in the spotlights.

"First each of your fingers. Then I'll smash your kneecaps. Then I'll set you alight." He tells her, anticipation sparkling in his green eyes. "Then again, I might just freestyle. Depends how I'm feeling."

She only noticed the ball gag when she tried to reply. It was only then that it started to become uncomfortable, like a cut that doesn't sting until its registered, demanding attention to be felt at all.

All she could give back was her hardest attempt at a glare. Her attempt was laughable. Perhaps that was why both men chose to laugh.

"I didn't want it to come to this, truly." Kincain says. "You could have accepted the alibi, and let very dangerous sleeping dogs lie. But, instead, you had to be determined." He laughed again. "You had to be a little hero, didn't you? Fighting for justice for the dead!"

She strained her wrists against their restraints. Her arms visibly tensed as she struggled, wrists now red raw from the thick rope pinning her to the waxed, expensive wood.

"You won't get out that way. You won't get out any way."

The shattering pain in her head was starting to throb now, the effects of the drug slowly lifting.

"Take off the gag." Kincain orders, and Seamus does as he's told, throwing it to the side. "You can scream all you like, it won't do you any good. The guard's off for two hours, no one's in these ghost homes."

Ramona was smart enough to believe him.

"You fucking scum." Were her first rasped out words.

"I prefer the term 'self-preserving'." Kincain corrects. "_This_ is nature. It's survival of the fittest, haven't you heard?" His head is tilted in faux curiousity. Ramona felt sick to her stomach.

"So that's why you did it. You were scared your sisters were going to tell on you, is that it?" He shrugged his broad shoulders.

"For a detective, you catch on surprisingly slowly, don't you?"

"Some things are so sickening they don't occur as a motive in a sane person's head."

"Oh, I'm perfectly sane. My sexual tastes are the only things peculiar about me. I prefer my women more-"

"Related to you?"

Suddenly her head was snapped to the side by a heavy blow from a large fist, and Ramona could now feel blood slowly trickle from a cut along her left cheekbone.

"Does no one have any appreciation for comedy anymore?" She mutters, a small shuddering breath also leaving her lips as the blood runs into her mouth.

It occurred to her quickly that it was Seamus that had thrown the powerful but clumsy punch, however the pain didn't set in as it should have, the adrenaline masking it.

"Can't even punch me yourself? You've got to get him to do all your dirty work?"

"That wasn't ordered. That was me hitting you because I wanted to." Seamus replies, his pupils dilated with adrenaline from one-sided violence. Looking to Kincain now, his blue eyes were exactly the same.

_Sadistic bastards._

"Like hitting women, don't you? Is that why your wife was fucking your brother?" Ramona laughed to herself, seeing Seamus' jaw tense with anger. "When I saw your daughter's black eye, I tried not to be too paranoid."

His fists tightened.

"But the truth is, you're an angry little man, aren't you? Love to hit people that can't hit back, love to take your bitterness out on them."

Seamus turned, walking to a black duffel bag by the door.

"So you hit your wife around, she looks around for someone else, another man. She didn't have to look too far, did she?" At this she threw her head back and laughed heartily. "And I bet your the one that killed her, too. You fancy yourself as an arsonist, and I guess you are. It was never townies that set your caravan on fire, killing your wife, It was you. You murdered your own wife. That was why you framed your brother, that's your motive. He slept with her."

He was turning back now, but she didn't see what was in his hands as he approached her.

"You tried to set this place on fire too. That didn't work out as well as you'd hoped, though." She looked over to the blackened, diseased corner of the house, the evidence of an unsuccessful arson attempt.

"Your motive was that you didn't want to go to jail. Your sister, Mary, she'd been getting brave. That's what happens, with courage. It's infectious."

"Oh, get rid of her already, won't you?"

This time, the pain hit her.

Ramona's eyes widened in horror, throwing her head back and letting out a shattering scream.

She could only look at the ceiling as the sharp end of the crowbar was plunged into her thigh, going straight through and narrowly missing the bone.

She felt the tear of muscle, the snapping of tendons, and her vision hazed over momentarily, doubling and tripling, all the agony all too much. Briefly, the pain brought her a buzzing white noise that was gone as quickly as it had arrived, but it was enough to know that her left leg would be out of service for quite a while.

That was, if she even made it through this night. Chances were, she wouldn't. Balance of probability, as Mycroft would say.

Ramona let out a cry as Seamus quickly ripped the imposed metal out of her leg, the end of the crowbar now red with her blood.

She watched dizzily as her blood streamed down to the sharp tip, littering the wooden floor beneath them with droplets of crimson rain.

Before she could stop to think there was something that felt like water being poured over her, streaming over her face so quickly that it was impossible to catch her breath. It quickly spread, and it wasn't long before it reached the wound, piling torture upon agony and making her writhe and gasp in pain.

Ramona would have kept thinking it was water, if it had never touched her wound. Because water didn't sting like that. Then again, it didn't smell like that, either.

Gasoline.

"No more fires, for God's sake." Kincain's exasperated tone. At this the gasoline shower stopped, albeit with an irritated huff from Seamus, and Ramona was now acutely aware of the fact that all it would take was one lit match, and she'd be toast.

_Literally._

"You can't actually think you're going to get away with this, can you?" She got out, her voice breathless with pain.

"How cliche of you." Kincain replies. "I was expecting a tad more originality from you. How very disappointing."

"The most powerful man in the country is going to be looking for you. Don't think for a second that you'll slip through his fingers."

"The most powerful man in the country?" Seamus retorts, amused at her supposed delirium.

"Along with the most dangerous one. If I figured it out, by now he must have. He'll get you." She spat.

"Then we'll kill him, too." At this her eyes flash with rage.

"You won't. He won't go so quietly."

"Yes, we'll see about that." He seemed bored already, or like he was dealing with a tiresome child. "Seamus, you carry the body."

_The body. _

Dread started to set in.

"But what about the kid?" She stalled for time. Waiting for who, or what, she didn't know. But Ramona wasn't ready to die yet.

They both paused.

"What did you do to Pad- Callister?" Her leg was throbbing as terrifyingly loud as her head, and now there was no chance of running away. "Did you kill him, too?"

"Of course I haven't killed him! I would _never_ hurt that child."

"How noble of you." She retorted. "You killed an entire family - your family - just because... why, because you couldn't stand her husband? Is that why he got the special treatment? You were jealous of him?"

He stared back at her silently, expressionless, and Ramona took a moment before her lip curled in disgust.

"Jesus Christ..."

"He won't help you now, Detective."

Ramona shook her head, looking around. She made the mistake of looking down.

The left thigh of her blue jeans was saturated with her own blood, and it was still hot on her skin, pulsing out thick and fast. A pang ran through her as she realised she could see the inside of her own thigh, she might have been able to see the chair if not for the blood, and she had to fight the acid washing over her tongue, the strong waves of nausea threatening to pull her under.

Everything was too much. The smell of blood, the taste of gasoline, the pain that only seemed to be growing worse-

Game over.

**###########################################**

When Ramona woke up, she felt three things in quick succession. Surprise; pain; fear.

It was dark.

God, it was dark.

It was so dark.

It didn't make a difference whether her eyes were open or shut.

Where was she? Was this death?

If so, it was disappointing. Really, the afterlife wasn't what it was cracked up to be.

Oh, how boring.

It was so stuffy and so pressingly _hot. _She couldn't feel anything but pain.

_Don't tell me the afterlife's nothing but oblivion. If I'm just staring into space for a billion years or so I will kill myself - not the best solution, though, really._

Ramona closed her eyes, and thought of all the people she had left behind. Hannah. She'd cry. Was she crying right now? Probably. What day was it? Harry probably had an arm around her, stroking that wild hair of hers.

Sherlock. Would he cry? She'd stood him up. He probably wouldn't be best too pleased about that.

How long did he spend at Angelo's, she wondered? How long did he sit by himself, at the best table by the window, watching the candle quiver. How long did he huff impatiently, shift and look around? Thinking about it now, she felt tears brim at her eyes. How long had he sat there whilst she was being killed, so oblivious to it? Had it been half an hour? A whole hour? Two? No, Sherlock wouldn't wait that long. He was too impatient. She thought about how he had probably tried to shrug it off, tell himself he didn't care about it. But he did. Everyone cared about things like that.

Did he sit at that empty table by himself until the candle had burnt itself out? The wax in the tealight nothing more that a stagnant pool? And then he must have left quickly, taking his coat without a word and pacing out into the London night.

John and Mary. The couple that could get through anything, it seemed. God, John and Mary. Mary didn't need this stress, not when she was pregnant. They would cry, she knew that much. Had she ever seen a pregnant woman at a funeral? No, she didn't think so. Was there a reason for that, did new life steer clear of the long gone, or was it just fate that the two could never intertwined? The penny dropped with a horrifying thud with the realisation that Ramona would never get to see the Watson baby. Maybe she could watch over them in heaven. Maybe this was purgatory.

Why was it so dark?

Her mother. This is the first time her gut twists, and Ramona starts to panic. She couldn't leave her mum. Right now, that was what she wanted, as juvenile as it was. Ramona wanted her mother to lift her out of purgatory and take her home. Take her anywhere, she didn't care where. Just not the darkness. Anywhere but the darkness.

Ramona couldn't breath for the claustrophobia.

Ciara. Paddy. Christ, how could she leave them behind? Ramona had always had a sneaking suspicion that Ciara would outlive her substantially, but this was just unfair. And Paddy, he was the closest thing to a child she was ever getting, and she loved him like he was one of her own. How could she leave him without his aunt?

Mrs Hudson. Kind, dithering, sweet Mrs Hudson, who wouldn't hurt a fly. Ramona had left her with the weight of the flat on her fragile shoulders. Now she was going to have to do all the chores on her own again. She even had to do Sherlock's laundry, for God's sake. How was that fair?

Why did her leg still hurt so much? Why was it so fucking painful? Was she damned to spend eternity with a hole in her leg? Oh, that was just brilliant.

So many unanswered questions.

Ramona was lying on her back in darkness, that was all she knew. Lifting her hand just to see if she could, she touched her own face, tracing down her nose with her thumb and index finger, and then grazing over the cut on her cheekbone, still fresh.

Wait a minute, she was still bleeding?

Reaching down now she touches the wound at her leg, feeling blood on her hands.

Do the dead bleed?

What was going on? Where was she?

She might have stayed in this mindset forever, had she not feel a rat at her feet.

Squirming backwards, her knees hit the wood above her. All of a sudden, she realised where she was.

Ramona had been buried alive.

**###########################################**

"You've reached Mona Doherty. You should probably say something after the beep."

It was raining heavily when Sherlock was walking down the street back to 221B, phone to his ear. He felt his mouth go dry as the foretold beep sounded.

Everyone had trouble with these things, why was that? Was speaking into the void against human nature? Leaving someone with nothing but their own words to fill the silence, why was that uncomfortable? This was why he never called. This was why he preferred to text. Why did phone calls even exist?

Oh, wait, he should be talking, shouldn't he?

Idiot.

"I-it's Sherlock." He closed his eyes at the stutter in annoyance, try to focus. "Forgive me if I'm mistaken, but don't people normally turn up when they set a time and a place to meet someone?"

Silence for a moment. No sarcastic rebuttal, no apologetic tone. Because she wasn't on the other end.

"I've sent you six texts so I suppose this is my very angry voicemail... why didn't you show up?" Sherlock realised he was slipping, so picked himself back up, clearing his throat. "Get in touch with me the first chance you have. Although, I suppose you would have. You always text first, anyway. Well, not really. Anyway..." He swallowed. "Contact me as soon as possible. That's non-negotiable."

Sherlock ends the call cringing, turning into the doorway of 221B and letting himself in. Walking up the stairs, he felt nothing but unbridled embarrassment. If she had wanted to humiliate him, she had done a fine job.

Sitting there at the table, trying not to look through the window for her in case she saw him watching out for her. He should have left hours ago, for God's sake. It had been ridiculously boring just sitting there on his phone.

Sherlock didn't care about what other people thought, although the sympathetic looks he kept getting cast were irritating. What was worse was when Angelo himself gave him a pep talk. That had probably been the low-light of the night, in retrospect.

Why would she stand him up? Was she angry at him for some reason? Or perhaps she just forgot. Forgot about him. Met someone else, maybe. Maybe she was asleep at home, maybe her phone was dead or broken, maybe she was - no, no. He was making this all up. The truth was he was making up excuses for her being a bad friend. A bad person? Sherlock had never been stood up, it just hadn't ever happened. He wasn't the kind of man to get stood up, because he guarded himself closely. Kept all his feelings in a little silver box under lock and key. Occasionally it rattled about, and with a little coaxing from people - Ramona, mostly - it was sometimes even opened.

What hurt even more was that he had been looking forward to it. Sherlock cringed again as he got into the flat, taking off his coat. He thought about how he had given himself those precious extra few seconds in the mirror, sorting out his hair and straightening out his suit jacket as his heart fluttered nervously, deducing what she was going to be wearing.

Idiot!

It wasn't as if it was a date. Well, it was, but not a romantic type one. How could he have been so foolish? It didn't matter what she was wearing, they were just friends. Ramona had made _that_ very clear. Painfully clear. Why was it always him getting the short straw? Why couldn't he make her feel this way, just once, just so she could see how it felt?

Had Ramona ever been stood up? At this, he let out a short, harsh laugh, as he walked over to the couch, throwing himself down and then staring up at the ceiling. He couldn't imagine her sitting in a restaurant on her own, heart sinking every second she stayed by herself.

No, she wasn't the type of woman that anyone stood up. She was always the colder one in relationships, it seemed. Thinking about it now, that seemed to be true. Apart from Kain. Well, the first time they had been together, anyway. From what he had heard she had fawned over Kain. Why didn't she fawn over him? Was there something fundamentally wrong with him? Probably. Perhaps he was too clingy. He knew he was, although he would never admit it out loud. It was as if she refused to think that he might actually like having her around, that he might actually care what she did.

This wasn't like her.

Panic started to rise within him, making him sit up.

Where was she?

She could be in danger. Knowing her, she probably was. She could hurt herself in a padded cell, for God's sake. What was he doing, feeling sorry for himself? He had to get to her.

The last place he knew she had been today was Claudia Keating's flat, he knew that from the last text she had sent him. Sherlock knew she was having trouble sleeping. What if she had passed out somewhere? She could be anywhere, that was the terrifying thing.

Ramona was in trouble. It had been clouded by his anger before, but he could feel it eating away at him, physically feeling her danger.

He also knew that Ramona didn't think they had the right person for the murders, just like him. But if it wasn't him, then who was it?

Come on, think!

And then, out of the corner of his eye, he spotted the home phone, lying on top of some papers on the coffee table.

With one missed call. One voicemail, Ramona's number displayed itself on the screen.

He paced over, quickly grabbing it as if it was to disappear any moment soon, and punched a few numbers in, going straight to the voicemail.

"Oh, Sherlock!" Mrs Hudson. Sherlock didn't turn to look at her, didn't even acknowledge her. "Where's Ramona?"

"That's what I'm trying to find out."

"Is she in trouble?"

"When isn't she in trouble?"

"What sort of trouble?" Mrs Hudson was panicking now.

"Shut up for a moment." Sherlock hold the phone to his ear.

"Kincain Keating-" That was all he needed to hear, in her voice, and he was already set on getting to him. To her.

Sherlock's mind goes into overdrive, piecing together the puzzle with one fact.

"An idiot," He murmurs, throwing the phone down, then going to his coat and putting it on quickly. "A blind idiot!"

He was going to pay a visit to the new patriarch of the Keating family.

"Sherlock?" He leans down the the table, crudely scrawling something on a notebook.

"I need you to call the police." He rips the paper, standing up and facing her. "Have them go to this address." He places it in her hand.

"Yes, but, what's going on, dear?"

But he was already running down the stairs, making his way to the door. He opened it, and-

A sudden crack of lightning lit up the raining night sky, and Sherlock's heart jumped.

He froze, turning to look up.

_No. Please. Not now._

Sherlock felt his palms start to sweat as a rumble of thunder rolled across the sound waves. He stepped back in apprehension.

His brow creased in frustration at himself, at his stupid fear, feeling his entire body tense like a cat that had just seen a great Dane. What was wrong with him? He was a grown man! Well, more or less, give or take.

_Ramona is definitely in danger._

Suddenly he was out of the house, closing the door behind him and pacing to the edge of the street, hailing a taxi.

**###########################################**

Claustrophobia was starting to set in.

She now was accustomed with her coffin-buddy. They had been introduced and everything. A Victorian gentleman, by the feel of his suit.

But the air was running out. Would anyone be coming to save her? She dared to think about Sherlock, pulling her out and carrying her to an awaiting ambulance, a nice orange shock blanket waiting for her. Maybe some morphine for the chronic pain, too.

Right now he was all she could think about, damn him. But this wasn't a fairytale, and he certainly wasn't her Prince Charming. Sherlock was only human, despite what he liked to imply.

No one was going to save her. Sometimes, the princess had to save herself.

Her hands go to her pockets, fishing for anything that could help her.

Her left hand curls around her keys, and she closes her eyes in relief.

Ramona arranged her keys so that they stuck out like claws between her fingers, and without another thought, punched upwards into the wood as hard as she could.

She felt the break of the skin on her knuckles upon impact, but repeated herself, breaking through the silk lining easily and the keys lodging inside the wood, having to pull it out with every punch.

With each fist she threw, she grew angrier, until her blood was boiling, eyes dancing with hardened determination.

After around seven hits, she wasn't sure, Ramona was out of breath, the only thing she could feel was fatigue, and the life steadily pulsing from her bloody knuckles, running down her arm in streaks, droplets falling on impact and onto her face, tasting the rust of it in her mouth.

She grunted as she hit it again, finally hearing a resounding crack in the wood. Ramona estimated she didn't have much time until the air ran out, around half a minute, although she wasn't going to stick around to find out.

Ramona threw another punch, and suddenly she was drowning in dirt.

Soil poured out of the small hole in the coffin, filling the small wooden box, and she couldn't breath.

Holding her breath she reaches up blindly with the same bloodied hand through the dirt of the hole in the coffin, desperately grabbing at the wood and breaking it, snapping it so that her body was now completely covered in the stuff.

She was clawing herself upwards now.

Her lungs were burning and her wounds stung, but she was tough.

Ramona refused to be buried.

A clawed hand, scarlet with streaks of blood and dark with dirt sprung from the ground into the open air.

With this she pushes herself up and out, and gasps at the oxygen as she finally resurfaces from the sea of soil. She rolls onto her back for a moment, panting and staring up into the starry night sky framed by the bare branches of age-old trees. Ramona was lying in the rain, now, the pelting force melting away the dirt and making the ground muddy.

After a moment, she starts to laugh breathlessly, hysterical with disbelief and astonishment.

Ramona starts to sit, and then tries to stand up.

"Fuck!" She cries out, as her left leg gives out from underneath her, sending her onto her hands and knees on the wet ground.

Her vision doubles in pain as she sucks in air through her gritted teeth.

Right now, Sherlock would have figured it out, she knew it. He'd be at the penthouse suite at the Langham. And if she wasn't there, he'd be killed.

With this in mind she quickly unbuckles her thick black leather belt which was more for show than anything else, and puts it around the wound, pulling it tight around her thigh and pushing through the leather with the pin to put a makeshift hole there, and then loops the excess around a few more times, tucking it inside. It was uncomfortable, but it stopped it bleeding so much, at least.

Ramona grunted as forced herself onto her feet, and stumbled the first few steps, wincing with every step her left leg took.

She limped through Highgate Cemetery feeling as if she was nothing more than a haunting, groaning and whimpering in agony as she did her ghostly rounds.

If anyone saw her now, that's surely what they'd think. The dirt was now washed off by the pouring rain that soaked her through to her skin, diluting her blood and turning the rain red as it dripped off her. Her blue eyes were dark with a storm of brewing fury, and she felt at home as lightening bolted down like silver veins in the sky. Ramona was a vengeful spirit, risen from certain death.

She stared out of the gate for a moment to London, her eyes resting on a high-rise that towered above the rest.

She was going to make them wish they had never been born.

**###########################################**

Sherlock knocked on the wooden door three times in equal succession.

A woman opened the door.

She was thin and petite, soft blonde hair that spiraled once. Her skin looked as if it barely stretched over her high cheekbones, along with blue eyes that seemed to be perpetually melting. She wore a silk robe that was light brown and not tied, leaving a glimpse of lacy black lingerie to be seen.

But on a second glance, her eyes were not melting, they were glassy. The silk robe was hanging messily and revealing what she didn't want revealed. She had been drugged.

Charlotte.

"I'm here to see Kincain." He tells her, looking over her into the inside of the penthouse hotel suite.

She didn't reply,standing back and opening the door.

Walking inside he looked around, a grand piano stood in the corner to his right, the walls were all glass, and right in front of him is the balcony, where Kincain stands, looking out onto his domain.

On seeing him, Kincain smiles, putting one hand in his pocket as he puts the whisky down onto the coffee table and stands up.

"Detective, what a pleasant surprise."

"The pleasure's all yours." Kincain chuckles as he outstretches his hand for him to shake.

"Sharp as ever. I expect no less from Sherlock Holmes, however." Sherlock stares down at the outstretched hand, and then looks back up to him. The hand is retracted. "Cold as ever, too, eh?"

"I'm not here to reminisce, Kincain."

"Oh, I know."

"I'm looking for Ramona Doherty. I know she was here."

"Ramona, you say?" He looks up in thought. "She was here, yes." Sherlock felt a flare of anger at his coyness.

"And where is she now?"

"Now?"

Sherlock tensed his jaw, watching him think, or pretend to. Kincain started to walk past him.

"No, I don't-"

In a flash of motion Sherlock had him by the throat slammed against the chest-height glass perimeter of the balcony, leaning him over so that all it would take was one jerk of his hand and he would be sent flying down into the street.

"I'm going to ask one more time." He growled.

But all Kincain did was chuckle, untroubled by the violence. Sherlock's leather-gloved hand tightened around his lily-white neck, all the pent up aggression that he had held in towards him suddenly expelling out of him, pushing the laughing man further out.

He didn't even notice the thunder.

"It's a storm!" He laughed again, blue eyes flickering to the sky and then back to his attacker, as if not a care in the world tied him down. "You were always scared of those, weren't you, Sherlock?"

The detective responded by straightening his arm out, so that Kincain's feet were now lifted off from the balcony floor.

"Do you remember, Sherlock? When you used to hide under your bed and in the wardrobe and everyone used to laugh at you? Tease you? What a stupid little boy! And you used to cry yourself to sleep nearly every night, didn't you?! So don't try to scare me, not when I've seen what you really are!"

"Where is she?" Sherlock asked again, although his grip only grew tighter, and tighter, and-

Another laugh, Kincain looks up to the falling sky, the rain hitting his upturned face directly.

"TELL ME!" Rain runs down Sherlock's nose as he roars, his grip tightening.

"She's dead!"

Another laugh.

A pang runs through Sherlock in unison with a strike of lightening, and his grip loosens, stepping back with wide eyes, mouth parting. Kincain puts a hand to his neck, rubbing it lightly, still chuckling to himself.

"We killed her." Kincain was laughing. "She's six feet under sharing a coffin with some skeleton."

Nothing was registering.

Dead?

There was no reaction in his mind, nothing but a hollowness. There was no howling sorrow or rage yet. Not yet.

But Sherlock knew, that in time, he would murder this man. Without a shadow of doubt, he was going to give him the most painful death imaginable. But, for now?

Just shock.

Ramona was dead.

Again.

"Sorry."

Sherlock feels a sharp hit to the gut that sends him onto his knees, but he doesn't bother to fight back.

There was no point.

Rain water drips from the ends of his hair, his face cold and wet, staring down at the floor in despair. He was going to have to accept that he had been too late.

He may as well give up now.

What was the point in doing anything else?

Sherlock had lived without her, if you could even call it that. It wasn't worth it.

He saw Kincain approach him, but he couldn't hear anything apart from the white noise that deafeningly rang in his ears.

_"Why can't you just say?!" _

_"Because I-" _

_"Tell me right now, or I-" _

_"Because I love you!" _

He could hear the power in her trembling voice. Sherlock could still see the fire in her teary eyes.

_Ramona._

"We killed her."

Sherlock felt himself shatter all at once. He closed his eyes, and waited for whatever pain awaited him.

"You tried."

His eyes widened, turning to the source of the noise, and his mouth parted upon seeing her.

Ramona stood at the doorway, wet through, soaked hair pushed back from her face, a crimson cut running over her cheekbone, her bloody knuckles white as she clutched at the gun she held pointed towards Kincain.

He murmured her name involuntarily, as if a reflex, relief flooding every inch of him so heavily he felt like sobbing.

Kincain turned pale, taking a few steps back in shock.

"You..."

Ramona mirrored him, taking a few limping steps towards the blonde tyrant as Sherlock stood up, walking towards her, still disbelieving what he saw.

"What's wrong, Kincain?" She smiled. "You look as if you've seen a ghost."

"Oh, that's lame." Sherlock muttered to her.

"Got your handcuffs?" She asks.

He felt the thunder in his chest, but he barely even registered it.

"O-of course."

She nods, not taking her eyes off Kincain.

"They have Callister here. Find him and call the police." She pauses. "And an ambulance."

Sherlock wasn't used to taking orders. Not that he wasn't amazed by her.

"What's wrong with your leg?" He asks, looking down to the belt.

"There's a hole in it." She murmurs, looking up to him.

"I thought you were dead." Sherlock states.

"I'm not."

"Obviously." He replies.

Sherlock wonders if she wanted him to kiss her as much as he needed to.

Ramona looks back to Kincain, eyes widening.

He was sat on the railing of the balcony, peering down at the cars below. Speechless for a moment, she starts to laugh.

"Do a flip, please." She remarks, causing Sherlock to chuckle.

Kincain looks back to them.

"I'll do it!" He threatens.

"Oh, be my guest." Sherlock says.

"Try to turn in the air so that you land on your head." He turns back round at this, pondering the act carefully. "And you'll probably want to throw yourself further out so that you don't land on the pavement."

Kincain seemed to be daring himself.

"So, go on." She coaxed. "Do it. _Jump_."

After ten seconds, he still wasn't able to do it.

Before he knew what was happening Ramona pulled him back to safety with a handful of his suit jacket, causing him to fall on his back onto the floor, winding him.

She put her foot on his chest and applied pressure, causing him to wince.

"You know," Ramona mused. "I've never met a bully that wasn't a coward."

**###########################################**

"How are you feeling?" Sherlock asks, sat next to Ramona on the edge of the ambulance, a hot drink in both of their hands, sharing one orange shock blanket. Sherlock didn't need it, but he admittedly liked the proximity, her head resting lightly against his shoulder.

"Like someone tried to bury me alive." She grins up at him, and they share a look, before he looks away, shaking his head.

Her wounds had all been seen to, and she now had a bandage wrapped around her thigh, her knuckles were scabbed over, and the wide cut along her cheekbone had butterfly stitches across it.

"You're ridiculous." She made a sound of agreement, nodding lightly. "The police got Seamus. All you have to do now is testify."

"I'm not testifying." Ramona said.

He blinked. "What?"

"I'm gonna put the bastards away. You're my star witness." An uncontrollable smile spread across his face.

"I though you were a human rights lawyer."

"I dabble."

For fifteen minutes there was nothing but silence.

"Ramona-" He looked down at her, and saw that she was staring out blankly into space. As if she was asleep with her eyes open.

Sherlock smiled dotingly at her, watching as her chest rose and fell deeply and slowly. He took the paper cup of hot chocolate from her relaxing hand and put it in the bin, along with his filled with coffee.

He put a hand on her back and an arm under her knees, and in one smooth movement stood up and lifted her at the same time, with nothing but a small grunt. At this point he was used to carrying her.

"Sherlock, wait." Lestrade's voice.

He turns, somehow looking taller when he had her gathered in his arms.

"We need to question you both."

"It can wait." He says, turning back round.

"No, it can't."

"Lestrade-"

"It's either that or come down to the station tomorrow."

Sherlock shot him a look that was a mix between protective, irritated and weary.

"Ramona's clearly not up for it today or tomorrow. It'll have to wait." Lestrade sighs. "She needs to recover, she's _exhausted_. Hasn't she done enough?"

"Fine, fine." He waves a dismissive hand towards him. "Tell her I hope she gets well soon."

"I'm right here, Greg." Ramona rasped, and Sherlock couldn't help but laugh.

**###########################################**

Ramona walked out of the courtroom of the Old Bailey with the use of a crutch, where a swarm of ravenous reporters bustled their way towards her, quickly surrounding her.

"How'd you feel about the verdict, Miss Doherty?!" The first woman shoved a microphone in her face.

"Over here, Ramona!"

"Is it true that you can take down three men at once?!"

Ramona tried to ignore them the best she could, along with the overwhelming flashes that blinded her momentarily, trying to walk through them, although they just walked backwards.

"Mona, what are your do's and don't's of spring fashion for this year?!"

"Is it true that you got into a fight over pick 'n' mix?!"

_Yes, but I'm not telling you that._

"What's your relationship with Sherlock Holmes?!"

She sighed in exasperation.

"Mona!"

"Is it true that you've been shot twice?!"

"How does it feel to get justice, Ramona?!"

"Is it true that your hands are insured for a million pounds?"

_So I'm Regina George now? Yeah, and I do car commercials in Japan._

"Are you pleased with the outcome, Miss Doherty?!"

She stopped, and they all seemed to wait with bated breath for what she was going to say.

"I'll be delivering a statement from Claudia Keating and her nephew later. I have no comment."

A flurry of flashes ensued, and Ramona sighed, making her way outside and down the stairs, where Sherlock was waiting.

Upon seeing the crowd of cameras he quickly ran up the stairs to her, roughly barging his way into the crowd and guiding her down the stairs, outstretching a palm to the reporters to give her room.

Once they finally made it down the wide stairs, Sherlock opened the taxi door for her, takes her crutch, and followed her inside, shutting the door behind him. The taxi promptly sets off.

"Jesus." She exclaims, leaning back into her seat, letting out a deep breath. "Thanks for that."

"No problem. You alright?"

"Just about." Her thigh was starting to hurt. "I thought I'd enjoy fame a lot more than this. It's actually pretty bad."

"Oh, you're only a B-lister. Wait until your at my level." He jokes, winking at her.

"What are you, the Kim Kardashian of detectives?"

"I don't know what that is." He admits. "But probably, yes." At this Ramona giggles, looking out of the window with a faint smile.

"We should get a reality show." She muses. "Keeping Up With The Consulting Detectives. Made In 221B Baker Street. Thames Shore."

"I literally have no idea what you're talking about."

"You're so completely oblivious to pop culture, it's inspiring."

"I try my best."

"I think that it'd be interesting. Wonder how much we'd get for a year contract. Access all areas."

"What's so interesting about our lives?" Ramona shoots him a look.

"Have you ever seen a normal person's life? Ever?"

"No. Thank God." They both laugh.

**###########################################**

They got out at 221B, Ramona paying the cab driver, as it was her turn.

"Have you been sleeping well?"

"No, no." Sherlock pursed his lips as he opened the door for her. She hobbled inside with her crutch and he closed the door behind them. "I'm tired right now, actually."

"Let me help you up the stairs to bed. You've earned it, if nothing else."

You could tell she was tired. Even though she tried to hide them, the dark circles underneath her eyes were prominent, her movements were more sluggish than usual, and she seemed to laugh at things that weren't even funny. Her skin was almost grey it was that pale, and she had lost weight. All because of some stupid case.

They made it up the two flights of stairs to Ramona's bedroom, and Sherlock opened the door for her.

"Will you be alright now?"

"I took a few sleeping pills in the taxi, I'm going to pass out any moment now."

She might have been exhausted, but Ramona was smiling, still reveling in the glory of a win in court. A tired but joyous smile that set his heart alight.

"Alright, well," He turned to leave.

"We won, Sherlock."

He stopped, and turned back round to her.

God, the look on her face.

"We actually won."

Glowing triumph.

And then he was walking across the bedroom to her.

He put his hands on the sides of her face as he quickly leaned down to kiss her and their lips met eagerly.

There were no words, just small groans and sighs as his hands slipped into her hair and got lost.

Sherlock pushed her back and onto the bed, crawling on top of her. He was already throbbing for her, all the pent up need finally coming undone as she took off his suit jacket and he got to work on the buttons of her blouse.

She was all he wanted. He knew this so well that it scared him.

She was gasping and he felt the breath hitch in her throat as he kissed down her neck to her collar bone, gently biting as his hand ran up her thigh and under her skirt.

"Sherlock..."

She was a source of infinite interest and desire. Sherlock knew he could never get his fill of her, not even if he spent years with her. It'd never be enough. He'd always want more.

She was pushing her head back into the pillow as he opened her blouse, kissing her torso and holding her hips down firmly.

She was stilling, almost accepting his dominance of her as he started to pull down her skirt.

She was completely still, as-

Wait.

Sherlock stopped and frowned, looking up at her.

She was... asleep?

Sherlock sighed heavily, disappointment mixing with annoyance and desperation. He let his head fall onto her bare torso in exasperation, wondering if he could just fall asleep like this. It'd be nicer than having to go downstairs and forget about her up here for a while. God, he was so close!

Damn those sleeping pills. Damn them to hell! doing anything now would be very, very wrong, and also classed as rape, so he'd have to leave. Oh, this was _so_ unfair. This was teasing. Bullying, almost. Could you call it harassment if someone fell asleep whilst you had the biggest hard-on ever? Probably, yeah.

Ugh!

Sherlock got up off her,pulling off her skirt and slipping off her shoes, gently lifting her up off the duvet so that he could put it over her, tucking her in. Sweeping his tongue over his bottom lip, he could still taste her there; fresh mint and peaches, apparently.

Peaches? They must have served them in the cafeteria whilst the Jury were making their decision. Not that that took long. She was such a good lawyer. And so insightful. And kind. And he was so in love, that it physically hurt. He felt the ache in his chest, he felt the breaking of his heartstrings, he felt every single word that came out of her mouth and took each one personally.

Sherlock took one last look at the room, thought about what could have been, and then left, closing the door behind him.

It wasn't as if he had even wanted sex that badly before he first did it. He honestly hadn't seen the appeal, or what all of the fuss was about. Then he had tasted her, and suddenly realised that he had been starving all along.

He found himself thinking about the angle of the slope of her neck to her shoulder and the width of her hips, how everything seemed so perfectly positioned and how they seemed to fit so perfectly together. Memories like that were things he found hard to erase, mainly because he didn't want to.

Unfair. All of this was so unfair.

And if she had just willingly kissed him back, why did she dump him in the first place?

None of this made sense. _She_ didn't make sense.

Getting back into the flat, Sherlock let out another self-pitying sigh, closing the door behind him, and then softly banging his head on it in frustration.

* * *

**That's that mystery solved!**

**And yes, I did use a Bond theme for this chapter, what are you gonna do about it? ;)**

**What did you think? I think my timing and pacing is probably a bit jerky, but it's really hard to get right.**

**Thanks for reading! Much love if you decide to leave a review!**


	76. Tessellate

**Tessellate - Alt-J**

**(Insert disclaimer here)**

* * *

Sherlock had been giving her weird looks all day, and it was starting to get irritating. It was as if he knew something she didn't.

Ramona sat with her nose in a book at the kitchen table, and Sherlock was eating lunch opposite her. Every so often he'd glance up at her, blink once, frown, blink twice, give a tiny shake of his head, and look back down. She estimated that he had done this four times in the last twenty minutes.

"How's your leg?" He blurted, although it seemed as if the question had been brewing for quite some time.

"Not changed since you asked two hours ago, thanks." She replied, turning a page of her book.

Sherlock pursed his lips and started to tap his fingers on the table.

"You've read that twelve times." He states.

"Just..." Ramona shrugged. "Brushing up on it." Why was he being so awkward?

"You probably have every word memorized."

She smiled. "Although I _do_ love a good spot of Oscar Wilde, I'm not that much of a loser."

"Who said you were a loser?" The words shot out of his mouth. "Not me."

She rolled her eyes, setting down her well thumbed issue of The Picture Of Dorian Gray and giving him a raised-eyebrow look.

"Right, what is it?"

He glanced away, frowned, and then back to her, as if she had said something strange. "What?"

"What's wrong with you?"

"Wrong with me? There's nothing wrong with me." Sherlock went to put his elbow on the table and rest his chin on his hand. "I'm fi-" His elbow slipped off the edge of the table and his head fell downwards then jerked back up in a reflex, eyes wide, causing Ramona to laugh and for his face to turn a shade pinker.

"Come on, smooth guy, you can tell me."

"I have nothing to tell you."

She shook her head, now smiling at the rare incident of clumsiness. "I can tell you're just itching to say something to me. Spit it out."

He sighed. "If you don't know what I want to talk about, then I don't want to talk to you about it."

Ramona took his expression in for a minute, repressing another eye roll. "Fine. If that's how you're going to play it." She said, before picking up her book again, finding her page, and continuing on from where she had left off.

He tensed.

Sherlock's mouth parted in disbelief, staring at her. He gave a short huff as his face fell into a childish scowl, then leaned back and folded his arms, looking away into the living room.

"Your lunch'll go cold." She told him nonchalantly.

"It's none of your business what temperature my food is."

This caused her to put her book down, for the second time now, and stare at him in annoyance.

"What's wrong now?"

"Nothing." His eyebrows raised for a second as he shrugged and shook his head.

"Oh my God!" She exclaimed after a moment of observance, her tone both incredulous and disbelieving. "Do you realise how annoying you're being right now?"

"Me?!" He rushed forwards so that their faces were way too close for comfort. "_I'm _the annoying one?"

"You are most _definitely_ the annoying one! Why are you so angry for no reason?"

"A- I'm not angry!"

"Sherlock, if there's something you want to discuss, we can talk about it right now." Her tone was more threatening and challenging than diplomatic.

"Maybe I do want to talk about it!" Closer.

"Well then say it!" She inched towards him.

"I can't!" He stressed, hissing.

Ramona takes his jaw in her hand and pulls him further towards her. "You're the bane of my life, y'know that?"

He shrugged in her grip, enjoying the proximity. "It'd be the first time you've outright said it."

"I don't understand how we're arguing." She lets go of him and leans back. "How is this even happening? One minute I'm enjoying a Penguin Classic, the next I'm forced into a childish debacle about you being too coy to talk to me!"

He blinked and stood up, going over to Ramona's 'fat' cupboard, looking through the impressive collection of biscuits, cakes and pastries in search of something sugary.

Ramona tutted. "That's it."

"That's what?"

"I'm reading Dorian Grey and you're stealing my biscuits. We both need some fresh air in our lungs."

"Fresh air?!" He asked, his entire manner extremely incredulous, his mouth now stuffed full of jaffa cake.

Ramona turns in annoyance, jaw dropping in shock when she saw how many he had taken.

"You realise I paid for those, right? I _bought _them? They're my bloody biscuits!"

"Oh, please." He swallowed, not wanting her to see him in such an unflattering position. "If we're going to go into who owes who what, it's two hundred and twenty pound, thirty one pence. In my _favour_."

Her stomach dropped and she paused, realising that she barely had half of that in her entire 'savings'. "You know what, keep those jaffa cakes. As a gesture of good will."

Sherlock muttered something about good will and how it didn't pay the rent or buy any new scarves, as he put a chocolate digestive between his teeth.

"I'll go get a coat." Ramona says, getting up and walking over to him. She reaches up and breaks off half of the digestive already between his teeth, now eating the other half of it.

Sherlock felt his face start to burn, paralyzed for a moment, and walked away, as to hide his very telling skin tone.

"Coat?" He asked, looking over some papers on the kitchen table. "Don't tell me you're actually going to try to find 'fresh air' in Central London."

"We live in a beautiful place, Sherlock. Lots of parks."

"Ooh, a park! How riveting." He mocks, and she returns his expression sarcastically.

"Fine, don't come with me. Fester inside for days on end, just don't come crying to me when you end up with rickets."

He snorted with laughter. "I'll come, but only so I can mock you."

"Ah, what else are friends for?"

**###########################################**

Hampstead Heath was populated by tourists, students, B-list celebrities, dog walkers, joggers, and the occasional normal person, as it turned out.

The view of the city was ridiculously good, although on a misty day such as today, there was very little to actually see. The end of Ramona's nose and fingertips were red and numb with cold as she pulled her thick, red tartan scarf up closer to her face, to a point where her nose was fully submerged.

"What now, then?" Sherlock asked, impatient as always.

"What d'you mean, 'what now'?"

He shrugged. "I thought you had a plan. A park plan."

"Why would I-" She sighed, obviously giving up, a little laugh escaping her as they got to a bench up high, in front of the forest part, where the trees were tall and it looked almost impenetrable due to the overgrown hedges and wild plants. "You're just supposed to chill."

"Chill." He repeated, apparently ticked-off by the notion of chilling out. "Do you really think that I can 'chill'?"

"Look at the view." She suggested calmly, amused. "Isn't it great?"

"Hateful." He finalized.

"You're on a right downer today, aren't you?" He laughed in a brittle tone at this. "Really look at it, why don't you? See how the wind seems to ripple through the tallest trees, the skyscrapers punch holes into the clouds, and all the tiny little people going about their tiny little business, all coming together to make the city that always seems just so _breathless_ with energy." A small laugh of amazement escapes her. "It's all so wonderful, Sherlock, can't you see it?"

But Sherlock wasn't looking where she was; he was looking at her. It seemed that in those moments of childlike wonder, where she could work herself up into an almost fantasy state, she was the furthest away from everything she had prescribed herself to be, and was left with what she truly was. And he adored every precious second of it.

"Of course I can." He replied.

She let out a long, satisfied lungful of cold air, forming a cloud of steam momentarily. "Wanna go to that vintage bookshop down in Hampstead? I hear they've got first copies of Wuthering Heights."

He smiled. "Should you really be buying first copies of Victorian books when you owe your flatmate the best part of three hundred quid?"

"Er, yeah, about that, could I pay you back in chunks? Like... fifty pounds a month, or something."

Sherlock rolled his eyes. "Pay me back when you have enough. I'm not exactly short of money at the moment, don't worry about it."

She grinned playfully. "Well then, Daddy Warbucks, it's your turn to buy coffee."

"Is that all you like me for?" He asks, his face starting to ache slightly from smiling, as he started to walk down towards Hampstead, her right by his side.

"Yes, I must confess; I only take you places so that I never have to pay for myself."

"Ouch."

"The truth hurts." She winks. Wait, was this flirting?

"Not even my good looks, then?" Oh, that was definitely flirting.

"That's a bonus." She laughed at herself, but he stopped dead in his tracks, staring down at her with wide eyes, all humour wiped from his face. Ramona seemed to all at once realise what she had done, causing her face to flush. "I- wait, we're just joki- I'm just joking, I-"

"Ramona, I want to talk to you about something. I - er - I'm not sure if you remember, bu-" He frowned, seeing that she wasn't even paying attention to him, but in fact to something behind him, her eyes so wide they resembled small blue moons.

"Sherlock!" She exclaimed, pointing behind him. He quickly turned round, and shock hit him at what he saw.

A girl - she couldn't have been older than twenty-two - stumbled out of the forest, a bloody, haggard, starved, hollow-eyed, rag-wearing, matted-hair mess, a ghost, wandering out of the shrubs.

She fell to her knees, and before Ramona could register what she was doing she was running towards her, even if her leg was screaming in protest.

Sherlock was close behind her when she reached the collapsed girl, and onlookers were starting to stop at the scene.

The girl kept repeating the same thing over and over again; "Sam, Sam, Sam... Sam, Sam, Sam,"

"Someone call an ambulance!" Ramona cried, getting onto her knees beside the girl, and grabbing her lifeless body into her arms, shocked at how deathly cold she was. "Sherlock, help me."

"Sam, oh, please, Sam, Sam-"

"Yes, yes, of course." He quickly gets onto his knees too.

"She's starved and delirious." She could hear a jogger on the phone to 999. "I'm sorry, but you can't have anything yet. It looks like your tongue's swollen and your stomach's probably contracted, so it's safer to leave it."

"Not... hungry,"

"Shit." Ramona mutters. "That means her body's shutting down. How long's the ambulance going to be?" Ramona asks the general crowd, to which a middle aged woman with a plait and wearing neon running gear answered.

"Five minutes."

"Hear that?" Ramona asks the girl. "Five minutes, and you'll be fine. D'you think you can stay awake for me?"

There was nothing but a nod as a response.

"What's your name?" Sherlock asks, but gets no recognition.

"I think I recognise her." Ramona frowns. "Kate? Is that... is that you?"

"Sam... Sam..." The girl then burst into tears, and Sherlock could feel himself being judged by all of the people circled around him.

"It's okay." Ramona pulls the girl into a hug, rocking the sobbing mess gently. "You're safe now, alright?"

"Sam, S-am, I... I killed him."

**###########################################**

Sherlock and Ramona had been sat in the hospital waiting room for at least two hours, until they were finally allowed in to see her.

The girl - her name was Kate, they had found out - was now lying in a bed, hooked up to a morphine drip, looking out of the window sulkily.

She was obviously not too happy that she was also handcuffed to the bed.

"Hello, Kate." Sherlock starts gently, sitting in the chair closest to the bed, Ramona mirroring him. She was admittedly less keen to play nice with the murderer, no matter how damaged she was. Then again, that was only hypocritical of her.

"Who are you?"

"Sherlock Holmes, this is my partner, Ramona Doherty."

"Oh, I know her."

"You grew your hair out, Kate."

"I want to cut it again, now."

Ramona had discussed with Sherlock how she knew Kate. They had been classmates at university - although they had never been particularly close - she had been one of those people that you're friendly with, both of your social circles only overlapping from time-to-time.

"You killed Sam." She stated, breaking the silence.

Lestrade had told the two what her story was. Apparently, she had woken up in an abandoned swimming pool, the cover pulled over the top and the ladders non-existent, with her husband, Sam. And with a gun with one bullet in it.

For a week, she said they had survived, but eventually, the hunger and the overriding survival instinct had taken her over, so Kate had picked up the pistol, and she had aimed at the back of her fiance of seven years, and she had pulled the trigger.

Now she lay on a comfy hospital bed, her mother and a lawyer present opposite the two detectives.

"Yes." Kate replies monotonously.

"My client doesn't _deny_ pulling the trigger-"

"But that's not what I don't believe." Sherlock stated, interrupting the lawyer as if he wasn't even speaking.

"Why did you do it?" She asks.

"I've already told the police why!" She was angry now, her eyes burning through tears.

"And it really is a lovely story," Sherlock said.

"_But it doesn't make any sense_." Ramona finishes. "Listen, one way or another, you _will_ be held accountable for his death." She looks to the lawyer. "And I promise that I will put her away _personally_, unless she confesses. So come on, Kate, tell me: Why did you do it? Was he cheating on you? Did he hit you about?"

For a moment Kate's eyes widened with so much rage that it was almost unbelievable. It was palpable, that fire inside of her.

"_She _made me do it."

**###########################################**

"What do you think, then?" Lestrade asks the pair, as they exit the hospital room.

"I can't be sure yet." Sherlock replies. "There's not enough evidence to make a judgment."

"I'd say a confession is evidence enough though, wouldn't you?" He asks.

"I'm not interested in whether she did it or not." Sherlock explains. "I'm interested in why."

"She's either very insane, or very stupid." Ramona starts, on Lestrade's side. "That's the only reason she would've starved both herself and him, before shooting him in the back."

"Then there's the option that what she said is true." Lestrade suggests.

"According to her, they were drugged, abducted, and woke up there, with a gun in a closed off swimming pool." Ramona said. "The odds of that being true is..."

"Astronomical." Sherlock finished. The three got out of the hospital, the cold hitting them, at the same time. He turned to Ramona. "How's your leg? Healing properly?" He came closer. "Is it painful to put weight on it?"

"Fine, yes, and a bit."

"You shouldn't be running with it, really. I should have made you use your crutch, but it looked like you had it under control. You could have pulled something."

"It's fine, really. I can't expect for it not to hurt, I did after all get a crowbar straight through it."

Sherlock winced. "Want me to take a look?"

"Strange how you hear that my thigh's been impaled, and the first thing you want to do is to look at it." Ramona walked over to the taxi, checking her watch on the inside of her wrist. "See you later, Greg."

"Both of you text me if you come up with anything, yeah?"

They shared a look, and then turned to Lestrade in synchronization. "Yeah."

Ramona got into the taxi, followed by Sherlock.

"Baker Street, please." Sherlock said, and the taxi pulled away from the hospital.

"Wait, what was it that you were going to tell me?"

"Hm? Oh, just..." Their gazes lock, and for a moment there's nothing but silence between them. "Just that..." He cleared his throat and looked away. "I was just going to tell you not to worry about paying me back. I know you still have twenty grand of student loan to pay off, plus half of the rent and living in London is extortionate, so I don't want you to have anything else to worry about. Pay me back, or don't at all. I don't mind."

Ramona had gone red with embarrassment and gratitude. "Thank you, Sherlock, but that just makes me want to pay you back even more."

He broke out into a smile. "I know. That's why I said it."

She laughed, and found that she really wanted to hug him.

**###########################################**

The next morning, Ramona sat filing through some papers about the never-ending divorce case. Both parties were so bitter that they were blind to the fact that they were both very obviously still in love with each other. But whatever.

11:59 changed to 12:00, and so she stood up, brushing non-existent dust off herself, pulling her coat on, turning off the screen of her iMac, and heading out of her office.

The lift was always crowded at this time, it was the rush hour of the building, but she still took it. It was either that, or descending and then climbing twenty-odd flights of stairs, and that was something that she just wasn't prepared to do.

Ramona made her way to the silver doors, pressed the button, and rested her weight on one foot as she checked her phone, waiting. No texts, no missed calls, nothing interesting on any social media. Brilliant. Should she text Sherlock? What would she even say? 'Hi, I'm bored out of my mind, please come and see me so that I can stare at your pretty face and fantasize about kissing you'? Yeah, best to keep that to herself.

The doors opened with a ding, and she got in the lift, followed by a few other co-workers. It was one of those faux-fancy lifts, that liked to think itself posh, with those mirrors that made dozens of doppelgangers of yourself. Ramona was now trapped at the back of around five people.

Unfortunately, the lift was scheduled to go up another two floors before descending to the bottom.

It stopped at floor 30, and the doors slid open, as usual.

Her eyes slid upwards from the screen of her phone in mild curiousity to see the newcomers, and-

_Oh, God._

_No. _

_Please._

_Not him._

Ramona was unable to take her eyes off the profile of a six-foot man, as he brushed his dark hair out of his face with one large hand.

He hadn't spotted her yet, that was obvious. He smiled at a middle-aged woman as he stepped back to make room for her, his back hitting the side of the lift. He was wearing an all-black expensive looking suit, his broad shoulders straining against the fabric.

She felt herself start to have a panic attack, her breath speeding up so quickly it ran ahead of her, leaving it impossible to catch up with it.

Kain.

What was he doing here? Wasn't he supposed to be out of the country?

Ramona went completely rigid, and doors were about to close on the floor he had gotten on to, she knew that she had to get off.

She quickly pushed her way past other people, uncaring to their annoyance, just making it out without being trapped between the closing doors.

The lift doors closed behind her, and she found herself on floor 30, by herself, too shocked to move, too frightened not to.

Ramona paced towards the empty stairwell, finding solace in the completely deserted place. It was only lit by the few small windows, and everything was grey with concrete.

Finally on her own, the tears started to come, huge, panicked tears coming thick and fast. Sobbing with wide eyes, hand on her mouth to stifle them, she slides down the wall, drawing her legs up and putting her head between her knees, and trying to get control of her breathing.

**###########################################**

When she got back to the flat, all she wanted to do was curl up into a ball so tightly that maybe she'd get so small that she'd cease to exist, simply pop out of existence.

But no.

There was Sherlock, the annoyingly nice bastard, and he'd ordered food. And since when was she ever going to refuse free food?

"How was your day?" Sherlock asked, setting down the plastic bag of hot takeaway on the kitchen table.

"My day? Oh, nothing special. Just, you know, the usual. Filing, writing statements, taking statements... I really liked the hair colour of one of my clients, so I might save up for some highlights, and Emily down the way got engaged."

"Ah." Sherlock nodded in comprehension.

"Not that you care, obviously." She gave a little laugh.

The kitchen was dimly lit, the only light was coming from the living room.

"What sort of day did you really have, Ramona?"

_Oh, for fuck's sake._

"What?"

"All lies are detailed."

"So are truths." She reasoned.

"Not where boring ones are concerned."

Ramona sighed, knowing that she'd been caught out.

"Why can't you just leave it, Sherlock?"

"Because you only lie about interesting things."

"Oh," A bitter laugh. "Interesting things."

"Yes, you only lie about yourself." That shut her up. "Why can't you just tell me the truth for once?"

"Because it's none of your-" Ramona looked up at him, and on seeing that his expression wasn't irritated, but instead softened, his normally hard features appearing kind, she decided to let it go.

"You look shaken. Like you've seen a ghost." This gets a laugh out of her, although there was no humour in it. "What happened?" Sherlock took a few steps towards her.

"Nothing. " She said quietly.

"Why do you never tell me about things that've upset you?"

Unusual silence from her, and then: "I just want to forget about it."

"Ramona..."

"Can we not talk about it? I really don't want to."

"Except you do. You talk to Hannah about everything. You just don't want to talk with me." He called her bluff in three sentences. "Why is that?"

"Maybe it's because she doesn't try to pry information out of me."

"That's the only way I'd ever get anything from you!" He exclaims.

"Oh, come on, it's not like you never lie to me!"

He gave a laugh of disbelief. "Really? Give me one example."

"Hm, let me think, maybe when you pretended that you were dead for _two fucking years_?!" She cried, stepping towards him, anger starting to burn.

"Are you really still going on about that?!" Sherlock leaned down closer to her. "Let it go, I said I was sorry!"

"Callous bastard."

"Dishonest, hypocritical shrew." He growled.

One second of savage fury passed, both of them too angry for words.

He opened his mouth to speak-

Ramona got her hands on the lapels of his suit jacket, pulling him down so that they were face to face.

"Say one more word." Her voice was menacing. "I dare you."

And with that, all that self-control that Sherlock had been exerting, however weakly, over the last couple of weeks, all came crashing down, a dam finally being burst.

"Say you're not enjoying this." Sherlock's baritone was deeper than usual. "I _dare_ you."He mocked her by using her sentence against her.

"That's not funny." She warned.

"Ramona," She could feel his breath, unusually hot for him, against her lips. "It hurts to look at you. It hurts when I don't. I feel as if you've cut me open with a piece of jagged glass, and for the life of me, I can't stop bleeding."

She couldn't breathe.

He took her now gentle hands and moved forwards a couple of steps, forcing her to travel backwards until her back hit a wall, and pinned her hands above her head.

"So tell me to let go of you." Sherlock said, almost aggressive. "Go on."

Instead, Ramona closed the distance between them, kissing him with ferocity.

His grip at her wrists relaxed, allowing her to take her hands out and grab at his sides from under his suit jacket, Sherlock pulling her closer to him with his hands on her lower back, so that their bodies were touching.

The kissing was breathless and desperate, as if any sort of pause might stop the entire thing. Like if they didn't kiss each other, they might kill each other.

Ramona's hands graduate upwards, knotting themselves in his hair, as his go to her jeans, frantically working at her jeans. She forgot about everything else but him, he was the only thing that mattered, nothing but Sherlock, never anything but Sherlock, not any nonsense about taxes and bills and food and the government and-

The government.

Mycroft.

_Fuck!_

Ramona quickly pushes him away, only now realising that the top of her cheeks were glowing with colour.

His expression was confused for a moment, before coming to the conclusion that she had pushed him away.

"What?"

"I can't. I'm sorry, I can't-"

"What do you mean you _can't_?! For God's _sakes_, Ramona!" Sherlock's voice was heavy with desperation and devastation.

"I'm sorry, Sherlock, I'm so sor-"

"But you want to. At least I think you do. So why not?"

"It's not as easy as that." She shakes her head. "If it were only about what I wanted, do you really think I'd be telling you to stop?"

"Then what is it?"

Her eyes were starting to fill with tears of frustration. "I ca-"

"Don't tell me you can't tell me, because you can."

A heavy sigh, one that bared the weight of everything holding her down.

"Mycroft."

A pause. "What?" Sherlock was suddenly angry.

"Mycroft." She repeated. "He... I'm not allowed to do this."

"You're not _allowed_?" It was less of a question, and more of a venomous spit. Oh, he was angry.

"You can't tell him that I've told you. If you do, he'll - he'll send me away."

He gave her a look of disbelief. "I'm not going to let him dictate what you can and can't-"

"It's better this way, don't you see? If we can just stay apart, then we can stay together."

"No." He decided. "No, I'm not letting him get away with this." He takes his phone off the table, to ring Mycroft.

Ramona's eyes widen in horror and she quickly takes it out of his hand, putting it back on the table.

"Sherlock, _please_."

He stared into her eyes for what seemed like an eternity, until finally he looked away, in what seemed like defeat.

"For you. Not for him."

Relief flooded her. "Thank you." There was a moment in which he could see her reigning herself in, and she started to button her jeans back up, taking a few steps backwards so that she was standing in the doorway to the living room. "Right, well, we'll just forget abo-"

All of a sudden Sherlock's hands were on hers, stilling them. She looks up from them, their eyes meeting.

"What exactly do you think you're doing?" He had an almost authoritative tone.

She frowns. "What?"

"I can keep a secret, you know."

A chill runs through Ramona, eyes widening. "Oh."

He gives a deep chuckle. "Do you really think that I would let anyone monitor the inside of the flat?" Sherlock leans down to kiss her, his fingers curling around her hips, and everything about him proves intoxicating. He starts to walk forwards, forcing her to mirror him as she puts her hands on the sides of his face, into the living room, not daring to break the entanglement.

She lets out a small cry of surprise onto his mouth as her heel catches on what feels like a television remote, sending her flying back onto the floor and him with her. They land by the fireplace, the heat of the roaring fire already starting to prick at one side of their bodies. Naturally, neither of them cared.

Sherlock laughed at her clumsiness, but it was cut short as she started to unbutton her blouse. He didn't seem to like this, as he grabbed at her hands for her to stop.

"That's my job." He answered before she could ask, wasting no time in doing, well, his job. At this she laughed, rearing up to kiss him.

**###########################################**

Three hours later, Sherlock collapsed on top of her, panting, his entire body weight on her small frame.

"That was even better than I remembered," Ramona's voice came out barely there and breathless. It was also a bit hoarse from all the shouts that had been muffled by his mouth and his hand.

He leaned up to kiss her forehead, then her nose, and then roll off her.

"Really? Because that's exactly as good as I remember it."

Neither of them could stop grinning, and now starting to feel a bit exposed, Ramona sat up, looking around for her underwear.

"You flatter me." She said, as she found her knickers, pulling them on.

"Oh, no, don't get _dressed_." He complained, sitting up next to her and kissing her shoulder.

"God forbid I clothe myself." She joked.

"Too right." He agreed, now resting his chin on her shoulder. "There should be a law. At least two days a week, you're not allowed to put any clothes on."

"Maybe you should ask Mycroft."

"Mm, best not." At this, they both start to laugh.

Sherlock took her lead, looking around for his own underwear.

"We should probably get this rug dry-cleaned tomorrow." She told him, to which he simply laughed. Sherlock then turned away to find his own underwear, quickly putting them on.

Once he was done, he turned back to her and put one knee over her, pushing her back down onto her back.

"I have to tell you something, actually." Ramona said, staring at him adoringly as she ran a finger down his nose.

"What might that be?"

"I might... Sherlock, you know that I love you, don't you?"

An uncontrollable grin spread across his face as he leaned down to kiss her, resting his forearms on the carpet above her head. "I'll admit that you're not exactly consistent with the messages you send."

She cringed. "What was I supposed to do?"

"You're supposed to say; I love you lots Sherlock, and I'll let you do anything you want with me."

"I love you lots Sherlock, and I'll let you do anything you want with me." She smiled, looking away for a moment. "And what do you say?"

"Then I say; that's convenient, Ramona, because I think that you put the stars in the sky, and I love you more than you will ever be able to begin to understand."

She blushed deeply. "It's not exactly fair if what you say makes me sound like an inarticulate toddler in comparison, is it?"

"Who said anything about fair?" Sherlock smirked as he leaned down to kiss her, biting her lip before he did.

She sighs contentedly, starting to card her fingers through his hair, and then says: "How are we going to keep this a secret?"

"Don't touch each other in public. Pretty straightforward." He says, starting to kiss her neck, and then stopping for a moment to talk. "Not as easy as it sounds, though."

"I'm sure you can exercise that superhuman self-control." Ramona comments.

He chuckles. "Is that what it looks like? I feel as if I can barely control myself at all, especially when it comes to you."

"Alright, Edward Cullen, save it for the trashy romance novel."

They both start to laugh. "I'm not that bad, am I?"

"Oh, I don't mind too much."

Sherlock moves up to kiss her on the mouth again. "Maybe it's not a cliche, then, if it's true."

"Who'd have thought you'd be so cheesy?"

He gives her one last kiss, before sitting up, suddenly examining her, going as far as to crease his brow and put a hand to his chin in thought.

"What are you doing?" Ramona asks, slightly embarrassed, and fighting the strong impulse to cover herself from his studying eyes.

He gave her a look as if she was stupid. "I'm trying to imagine you with your clothes on."

Ramona raises her eyebrows, amused. "Oh, charming."

"Wait," He starts to laugh, and she can't help but join in. "Wait, that sounded rude. I didn't-" Sherlock's lovely, baritone laugh cuts into his sentence. "I'm working out where I can give you lovebites without anyone seeing."

"Oh, alright..." She looks down at herself, trying to help him. "Er, here?" Ramona puts a finger somewhere on the middle of her chest.

"No, no, you can see that with that low-cut dress you wear."

She frowns. "Which one?"

"Number six-" He seems to catch himself. "The blue one."

"Wait, were you going to say number six?"

"No." His face was starting to fill with colour. "I said: The one I hate."

"No you didn't. You said number eight." Sherlock cringed. "Have you - have you _numbered _my outfits?"

He sighed. "In order of which ones I like the best."

Ramona starts to laugh. "Oh my God,"

"It's not that weird, alright?"

"Oh no, it _is_ that weird." He shakes his head and chuckles. "What's number one?"

"Number one? Oh, that's a tie. Firstly the outfit you wore when we first had sex, although I destroyed it, so I suppose it could be considered void. The other's ripped jeans, trainers, top, and your leather jacket."

"Hm, I wonder which outfit of yours I prefer." She looks up in mock thought. "Is it the suit, or the suit?" Ramona gasps in mock surprise. "Or maybe the suit, or the suit but with jeans?! The possibilities are endless!"

"Oh, shut up. A suit is a timeless classic. It'll never go out of fashion."

"You wear them like they're about to." She jokes.

"Will you ever stop teasing me?"

"Teasing? Those tight shirts are the definition of teasing."

"I don't mean to buy them so tight. It just, sort of... happens."

She laughs. "Sometimes I hear the buttons screaming."

"Right, that's it. Enough bullying for one day, I think." Ramona puts a hand on the side of his face as he leans down to kiss her. "Also, I've thought of somewhere I can give you lovebites."

"Oh?"

"Yep." His voice is little above a murmur now. "Your inner thighs."

* * *

**Hm, what's going to happen now that Kain's back in the picture?**

**Sorry for the short chapter, although it was quite full of important events.**

**Thank you so so much for reading, even more endless thanks if you decide to review, it really motivates me to write!**


	77. Submission

**Submission - Sex Pistols**

**I own nothing!**

* * *

Waking up, her legs entangled with Sherlock's in his bed, wrapped in his arms, nothing felt wrong with the world. In fact, it felt as if it revolved around them, around the tranquil bedroom, still apart from the gentle rising of their chests, as if they weren't in the middle of a bustling city.

Ramona sighed, realising she had to get up for work. Lifting her head off Sherlock's chest for a moment to check the clock on the bedside table.

**6:23 AM**

She had exactly two minutes before she had to get up.

Sherlock groaned as she moved and settled back down.

"Sleep well? Ramona asks.

"Best I have in weeks." Sherlock replies, in a ridiculously hot, tired voice. "You?"

"Same." She says. "Although I suspect it was to do with being exhausted."

"Yeah, sorry about that,"

Ramona leans up to kiss him on the underside of his jaw, causing him to pull her closer.

"I'll recover."

He gives a small hum of agreement. "Although, I do wonder if you'll be able to walk." Sherlock laughs quietly.

"Don't get cocky, Sherlock." Ramona jokes.

"Was that supposed to be a pun?"

Her mouth falls open. "SHERLOCK!"

He starts to laugh heartily, quickly becoming infectious, causing Ramona to also break out into a giggling fit.

**###########################################**

She practically floated into work that morning.

Beautiful Ones by Suede played through her earphones and blocked out the seemingly greyscale city streets, bringing forward memories of sticky adolescent summers spent in floaty skirts and shorts and hanging around parks with- no, she wasn't thinking about him.

Instead, she was thinking of Sherlock, and that meant not being able to stop smiling.

He really hadn't wanted her to leave this morning. He had practically clung onto her and begged her to call in sick. God, he was so cute and hot at the same time, how did he do that? But then he could turn so scary, although that was also strangely attractive in its own dark way...

A lazy smile covered her features as her mind drifted, thinking about him and nothing but, how his hair always managed to look perfect even in the morning, how he was the perfect mix of being not too skinny and not too muscly but still strong, how he always took pride in his appearance, unlike most men these days.

She walked into the bustling reception floor of the building, the white marble floor making her heels click as she started towards the lift. People sat awaiting nervously on the sofas near the glass wall to the left near the front desk, to the right people bought their lunch at the cafeteria which was already open.

Ramona was a like a schoolgirl with a new boyfriend, she knew that much. Right now all she wanted to do was scream about how much she loved her secret boyfriend, about how he was definitely the best person to ever be put on this earth, about how pretty his hair was and how he was clever and strong- but whatever. They'd eventually work it out with Mycroft, wouldn't they? And then everything would be fine, she promised herself that. Ramona would make it work with Sherlock, and that would be that. If she was going to die for him, then so be it, but she wasn't going to dwell on it. Instead, she was going to live.

Now, where was she? Something about Sherlock. As usual. Oh, she hadn't thought about his cheekbones yet, had she? Or his voice. Eyes. Or about that-

"Ramona!" This made her stop in her tracks, and turn to the source of the noise. She could even hear it despite her earphones, now taking one out. That source was a colleague named Ben, occupant of the office opposite hers, around her age, if not a little older, jogging to her.

"Oh, hello Ben." She smiled warmly.

"I didn't think I was going to catch up with you." Ben stops to regain his breath as he stops beside her. He was the same age as her, perhaps a year or two older, and had the office opposite her on the hallway. His silver engagement ring winked at her in the light as he ran a hand through his dark blond hair.

"What is it?" Ramona asks, starting up again towards the lift, now walking beside him.

"Well, I was actually going to ask about the Brighton trip."

She blinks, her mind going blank.

_Fuck, what Brighton trip? Is this with work or as friends? Was I not paying attention? Was it brought up in Thursday's meeting?! What was I doing in that meeting?... For God's sake, I was thinking about Sherlock! Curse that handsome devil, is he actively trying to ruin my career? I bet that's all part of his plot, so I have to rely on him completely, and-_

"Ramona?" He asks, smiling in a slightly befuddled fashion, head tilted, as they reached the lift.

She snapped out of it, mentally swearing, before feigning a smile, and nodding as if she knew what he was talking about.

"Yeah, yeah, of course, the Brighton trip."

"I was just going to ask if you could still make it." Ben's brown eyes were earnest as the lift doors opened, and she went to get inside. However, she stopped when she saw that he wasn't even attempting to get in.

"Er, yea- aren't you going to get in?"

"Oh, um..." He laughed nervously as she stepped out, and the lift doors closed behind her. "No, no. I hate lifts. Hate anything that's really small. I've got quite bad claustrophobia, actually."

"Really? I-" Should she tell him about the time she got buried alive? Probably not. "Me too, sometimes, although obviously not as bad as you."

"It's rubbish, isn't it? Anyway, I was asking if you could still...?"

"Oh! Er-"

"Because if you can't, I have to go with Paul."

She cringed at the mention. Paul was a middle aged man who was so uncaring about his job that he hadn't been promoted from their level since he was her age. Also, she had a sneaking suspicion that Paul hated her guts for reasons unknown.

"Ooh, unlucky. What day's this happening?"

He gave her a look. "Today."

_Shit!_

"Oh, I mean, which day does it end."

_Nice save._

"It's... a one-day trip."

_Oh, for fuck's-_

She laughs it off. "Sorry, you got me."

"You weren't paying attention in the meeting, were you?" Ramona gives him an apologetic look to tell him that she hadn't, to which he laughs. "That's fine. I mean, they are terribly boring, after all."

"I'm really sorry, but I think you'll have to take Paul."

He sighs playfully. "I suppose I'll manage somehow. He's got a nice car, though, so..." Ben laughs breathily, before picking up the sentence again. "What car do you drive?"

"I live pretty centrally, so I don't need one. But I _do _have a motorbike."

His eyes light up in childlike excitement at this. "Really? What kind?" A gasp, "Is it that all black one that I see sometimes in the underground car park?"

Ramona laughs.

**###########################################**

**Bored. - SH **

1:30 Saw both Ramona and Sherlock in the same mood. However, hers perked, as she got the text from him, going to reply.

**Oh, you must be so bored, sat in the flat, doing whatever you want with your day. Poor Sherlock. - MD**

She hoped he'd hear the joking tone through the text.

**Perhaps I should come to your office? Take a few things off you mind for a few minutes? - SH**

Ramona grinned behind her hand, all of her attention now turning to her phone.

**A few minutes, you've got that right. - MD**

**Both mean and uncalled for. What are you doing? - SH**

She has to think about this for a moment.

**Sending an email to accounting. You? - MD**

**Thrilling stuff. I'm actually still wearing my pyjamas. - SH**

This gets a scowl out of her.

**Lucky sod. - MD**

**What about you? - SH**

Ramona frowns.

**What? - MD**

**Ugh, never mind. - SH**

**Wait, were you going to ask me what I'm wearing? - MD**

**Admittedly yes, but then I realised that that you're too stupid to take a hint. - SH**

She writes out a backlash, but then, remembers something quite important. Mycroft could easily be monitoring this.

**Did you get the rug dry cleaned? - MD**

This time, there was a moment until there was a reply.

**You never fail to bring up the most riveting conversation topics, do you? I'll do it in half an hour, just started a game of Guess Who with Mrs Hudson. - SH**

**Ew. Please clean it as soon as you can, it's going to start to gross me out. - MD**

Three knocks at her door made her jump, almost throwing her phone up into the air in surprise. She quickly deleted the texts and straightened herself out, putting her phone away and focusing back on the iMac screen, pretending to scroll as they entered.

"Come in!" Ramona called, glancing sideways at the door.

"What a rude thing to say about your landlady."

Sherlock's voice once again sent a shock through her. Her eyes widened and she looked to him, to see that he was in fact not in his pyjamas, nor was he playing Guess Who.

"You realise you could get me into trouble, right?" She said, although she was smiling as he approached her desk.

"I'm willing to take that risk." Sherlock's smile grew as leaned down and forward on the desk, so that their noses were touching.

"You missed me." She states, smirking now.

"Obviously." He says, now closing the distance between them.

Ramona snaps out of the almost dream-like state, jerking away from him as their lips were about to touch.

He grumbles in annoyance, giving her a grumpy frown. "I came all this way for you to play hard to get?"

"Sherlock, how do we know that Mycroft hasn't bugged this room? That there isn't someone looking at us right now?"

A deep sigh. "The glass on this building is more like a one-way mirror, no one can see in that way. Today I looked at his surveillance plans - the security of Mi6 isn't exactly Fort Knox - and there's barely anything on you. It's more just the outside of Baker Street, to see who comes in and out - nothing overly intimate."

She thinks about this for a moment. "Sorry, I suppose I'm just a little paranoid."

"I can't say I blame you." Sherlock said, as he walked around her desk to stand beside her.

"Well, I suppose you can..." Looking around her office now, "Sorry, I don't really have anything to keep you entertained."

"I'm sure I'll be able to find something." He muttered, leaning down to her, and gently tucking her hair behind her ear, sending a chill straight through her.

"N-no, I don't think so. I've got quite a bit of work to do."

Her thoughts and her words seemed to stop at the same time as he gently bit her earlobe.

"I've actually got to, got to send this, and then-"

"Ooh, I love it when you talk office to me."

Ramona feels his hot breath and the brush of his lips on her neck, almost teasing.

"Sherlock, I really have to get this finished..."

Yet she pulled him closer with a weak fistful of his coat as he started to kiss her neck, knowing this to be her ultimate weak spot, Ramona feeling the world instantly melt away along with her wavering resistance.

He worked his way upwards, finally letting her parted lips meet with his, their breath mingling in small sighs of satisfaction, until she needed more of him, and stood up without breaking the kiss, running her fingers up the nape of his neck and entangling themselves in his hair.

Without warning he spun her to the side, picking her up by the back of her thighs and placing her so that she was sat on her desk.

Ramona was giddy with delight as he moaned into her, Sherlock's fingers dug tightly into her sides. It was as if he had been thinking about what he was going to do before he had even got here.

Three knocks at the door.

Her stomach dropped at the thought of getting caught like this, but it seemed as if Sherlock hadn't heard it. Ramona pinched him to wake him up, and he instantly snapped to, pulling out of the kiss.

"What?"

"Quickly-!"

"What? What's happening?" His face was flushed, and he wore a glazed over expression of clouded desire.

"There's someone at the door!" She hissed. Another three knocks, and she got off the desk.

"Fuck! Er-"

"Language!" She exclaims, outraged that he had sworn.

"Says you!"

"Now is not the time!"

"Right, sorry, -"

"How do I look?"

"Normal," He concluded.

"I mean; do I look like I've just been getting off with you!"

"Oh! Um," He couldn't help but smile, as she fixed his hair back into position, so he pulled her blouse back into a less ruffled looking state.

"Okay," She steps back from him. "Sit there," She points at the client chair at the desk, as she quickly sits in hers, her movements spidery as she sorted out the papers on the table so it wouldn't appear as if she had just been sat on it. "Right, are you sure I look okay?"

"You're blushing." He stated, obviously smug about it. That same dreamy look still lingered in his eyes.

"Shut up, so are you." She murmured, before looking to the door, "Come in!"

Laura appeared, and what she saw was a very different scene to what had been happening only moments ago.

Ramona leaned over her desk, tapping a silver pen at what looked to be some very confusing legislature, whilst Sherlock nodded dutifully, as if concentrating hard on what she was saying, both of them exchanging murmurs in a business-like tone about the fine-print.

"Sorry to interrupt, Miss Doherty, but I have the New York branch asking about the Marrakech files, specifically - specifically the, um..." Her voice trailed off as her eyes drifted to Sherlock's shirt, half untucked at the bottom.

"Yes, Laura?" Ramona diverted the attention from the idio- genius detective back to Laura, now looking at her with an expression of cold seriousness, and stern to the point of annoyance.

"Sorry, er, the documents concerning case zero-six-four, they were asking if you could give them a once over before they submit them?"

Ramona sighed, leaning back in her chair. "That's at least a hundred pages long."

"They'd really appreciate it."

"Does it have to be me?"

"You spot things no-one else thinks to look for. They could really use a hand, and they specifically asked for you."

A moment of deliberation. "Tell them to send them to me, but also let them know that flattery will get them _nowhere_. I should be done by finish."

"Thank you, Miss Doherty." She looks from Sherlock and then back to her. "Would you or your guest like anything? Water, tea or coffee? Biscuits?"

"Black with two sugars, please." Sherlock leans back in his own chair, links his hands in his lap, and gives one of those short-lived, wide grins.

"Just water for me, thanks."

"Of course." A polite smile and a nod, and she was gone.

They waited until the door closed behind her before they relaxed, both simultaneously releasing a deep breath.

"Jesus, that was too close."

Sherlock makes an absentminded hum of agreement as he fixes his shirt.

"She should at least be polite enough to let us finish before she interrupts." He says.

Ramona thinks about this. "There's not going to be a next time."

His face falls as his eyes dart to hers. "What?"

"Too risky. I could lose my job, Sherlock. And it's not funny, so stop smirking."

"I'm not smirking. Am I smirking?" He frowned at himself, touching his face.

"What I'm saying, is that it's all very romantic and sexy for you to surprise me at work and... but- but in reality it's a health and safety hazard and does nothing to help my productivity."

Sherlock looked as if he couldn't believe what he was hearing. "You used sexy and health and safety hazard in the same sentence." A tone of bewilderment.

She was now looking at her computer screen, tapping at a few keys. "Your point?"

"Oh, come on!" He cries, outraged.

"God, keep it down! People are trying to work here!"

He shook his head. "I had no idea you were so uptight when it came to work."

"U-uptight? Me?" Ramona laughed. "I'm the polar opposite of uptight."

"When you're out of work, yes, but when you're in...?"

"How do you think I got from one of the worst performing inner-city state schools to one of the best universities in the world on a scholarship and graduated as the valedictorian with the highest grades in a decade? Procrastinating? Flirting? Fucking in the library?"

He went to retort, but instead, he started to chuckle softly. "You never cease to amaze me."

"And you never cease."

His amusement grew. "What's that supposed to mean?"

She shrugged. "Whatever you want it to."

A long, self-pitying sigh from the Consulting Detective. "Fine, fine. But don't talk about 'fucking in the library', please." A suggestive pause, and he briefly looked as if he was imagining something. "Or maybe do."

"William Sherlock _Scott _Holmes, do you kiss your mother with that mouth?!"

"No; I kiss _you _with it. And it's just a guess, but I think you might enjoy it a little bit."

A smile tugged at the sides of her mouth. "I thought you never guessed."

**###########################################**

Ramona's phone jumped to life on the bedside table, lighting up the room with harsh white light as it vibrated across the wood.

She shot up in bed, her heart leaping at the sudden noise, disorientated, frowning for a moment, before reaching over for her phone, answering it, and pressing it to her ear.

Her voice came out croaky from sleep, rubbing her temples, brow heavily furrowed. "Hello?"

Nothing.

"Hello?" She repeated.

Sherlock sat up slowly, trying to meet her gaze with a quizzical expression.

Still no answer.

Ramona took it away from her ear to see who it was, and saw that it was Ben. Her confusion only grows, as she puts it back to her ear.

"Ben? Is that you?"

Sherlock let out a deep yawn beside her.

She waited for a moment longer, and then ended the call. Ramona sighed all of her troubles out, and then put her phone on the bedside table, reconnecting it to the charger. It buzzed once, and then the screen went dark.

"Who's Ben?" Sherlock asked.

"Er," She rubbed her eyes blearily. "Oh, he's just a friend from work. I was supposed to go on a business trip with him tonight, but I sort of forgot..."

"Good," He stretches his arms upwards.

"Gotten anywhere with that Kate case?"

"No. There's _nowhere_ to go."

"Strange. I would've thought a decent private detective like you would've figured it out by now." She remarks.

Sherlock's mouth falls open in disgusted disbelief. "A _decent_, _private_ detective?"

"Oh, sorry; a peerless, phenomenal, consulting detective," Her eyes started to focus on him in the darkness. "Who currently has tremendously bad bed-hair."

"You're forgetting the part about my international reputation." He adds, kissing her shoulder.

"Of course, how did that slip my mind?"

A low chuckle from Sherlock as Ramona decided to get a leg over and sit on his thighs, using the position to her advantage and starting to sort his hair out.

"You made my bed smell like your perfume. It stinks." He states, in a sleepy and comfortable voice, obviously still not fully awake.

"I didn't know you liked sniffing bed sheets." Ramona replied, with a small laugh, causing him to scowl.

"Shut up. I was trying to be nice."

"If telling me my perfume smells bad is considered 'nice' to you, then you're lucky that I like a good amount of mean." She let her arms rest on his shoulders as she kissed his temple.

"I didn't mean it like tha- you think I'm mean?" He sounded a little put out.

"Yes, I think you're the leanest, meanest, detecting machine there ever was." Her voice was softer than usual as she started to gently run her nails up and down the nape of his neck. Ramona felt his hair stand on end as a response, and a contented sound escaped from Sherlock, one that could easily be described as a rumbling purr.

His body relaxed completely, and he nuzzled his face into her neck, murmuring her name as many times as he wanted to, hugging her tightly to him with two strong arms around her waist.

"I've missed you." He told her under his breath, almost sighing the words out.

"I've missed this." She whispers back.

In that moment, in the darkness of the bedroom, holding each other so tightly it was as if they longed to be closer than was humanly possible, serenity set within them and peace lingered in their twin hearts.

**###########################################**

"-Think it's gonna rain." Ramona mutters, looking up to the bulging dark grey skies with an almost exasperated expression.

Sherlock had offered to walk to her work, and she had happily said yes. They were entering the reception floor, but both frowned as they saw what was happening inside.

A crowd of employees were gathered around what looked like head of human resources, all of them murmuring and giving each other perplexed looks.

The pair at the door exchanged a brief glance at each other, before quickly making their way across the marble to the gathering of suits.

"What's going on?" Ramona asked a girl at the edge softly.

She turned around to her and said: "It's Ben Walker and Paul Tenebern."

Sherlock frowned behind Ramona, looking over the heads of the people for a second, and then back down to the girl.

A knot of worry was starting to form in the pit of her stomach. "What about them?"

"They're… They didn't come back from the business trip."

A pang of shock now. "What?!" Ramona looks up to the woman, who was now starting to address the employees.

"If anyone has had any contact with either Paul or Ben since nine pm last night, please let me know. Thank you." With this, she bowed out and disappeared.

Sherlock leaned down to talk in her ear. "You got a phone call last night."

She turned to face him, causing him to straighten up. "I should go talk to her, shouldn't I?"

"Probably for the best." He shrugged, looking around. "It gives you an alibi, anyway."

Ramona smirked. "You make it sound like I had something to do with it."

"Well who knows? For all I know, you could have killed them both."

Her eyes widened. "Sherlock!" She hissed, "Shut up!"

"Ooh, is that panic?" He's smirking now, as he leans down to her slightly.

"It's not funny, they could be in trouble." She urged the unaffected detective.

"Oh, please. Most probably they had one too many at the pub and decided to sleep at some seedy B&amp;B for the night."

Ramona gave him a look. "You don't know that for sure."

"However, I'm rarely wrong." He tells her, as if common knowledge. Then again, it sort of was.

"Rarely being the key word, Sherlock."

He chuckles. "You should go speak to her then. Let her know that y-"

"Excuse me everyone," The woman was speaking. This time, her cheerfully rosy cheeks had turned a bleak shade of pale. "Can I have your attention please."

Hush fell upon the entire room, as if everyone was able to sense the gravity of the incoming words.

"I've just got a phone call from Paul's wife, telling me that he's been found. He's now resting in hospital." A lengthy pause. "Ben- Ben was found… He was found dead."

Ramona gasped quietly, a hot flush of disbelief coursing through her.

_Dead? How can he be dead? I just talked to him yesterda-_

"Work will resume as usual, however I'll arrange for some therapy sessions for all employees on his floor." She cleared her throat. "That'll be all."

"This isn't a coincidence." Said Ramona, walking through a relatively quiet city street on her lunchbreak with Sherlock, who was holding a lidded cardboard cup of piping hot black coffee in one leather-gloved hand.

"Obviously. Two pairs of people get abducted and then one dies in the same week?" He smirks darkly. "Ooh, someone's been busy."

"There we go again, with the weird murder fetish." She shakes her head and leans back in her chair, as Sherlock laughs lightly.

"You know my methods, Ramona." He winks.

"If you like murders that much, Sherlock, then why don't you just marry them?" She grins playfully.

"You're the last person to start up about marrying other people, surely?" He seemed calm, but he was toying with a hit nerve, it would seem.

"When the murders are in danger, then maybe- God, can we stop going off on tangents for a moment and focus on the case?"

"You started it," Sherlock mumbled from behind his mug, before taking a mouthful of coffee.

"True. Okay, so what sort of person are we looking for?"

"Well, obviously they're completely insane, not willing to stop until somebody makes them."

"Sadistic, too."

"Yep. Perhaps just a Saw fan gone a bit…_ loopy_."

She wasn't in the mood for laughing. "Maybe someone that's interested in psychology? Like, they wanted to see what people'd do?"

"That's one psychology student very dedicated to their research."

"Which is what you're always urging people to do, right?" He gave her a look. "It's hard to tell when we have so little evidence, though."

"They've been extremely thorough. Meticulously so." He thought about this for a moment, his brow creasing lightly. "These are thought out attacks, the victims aren't simply plucked from thin air. No, no, they've been looking into them first, otherwise how would she have known where to find them? In all likelihood the woman in Kate's account was nothing more than an accomplice, taking into account the balance of probabili-"

Sherlock had gone off into his own deducting little world, and Ramona couldn't help but stare at his regal appearance, something almost ethereal, almost too good for this earthly plane, too good for her, walking next to her on some irrelevant street in the middle of London.

"Ramona?" He stopped walking suddenly.

She blinked, stopping too. "W-what?"

"What I just said. Did you hear any of it?"

She blushed, but tried to hide it with a quick sip of her hot chocolate. "Yes, obviously. What do you think I am, some schoolgirl with a silly little crush that can't listen to you because I'm too busy staring at you? Is that what you think?"

He frowned, raising a brow. "No. I do now, though."

Ramona's face only deepened in colour at this. "Oh, please."

He gave her a deep, genuine smile, and in that moment, his entire expression was unguarded and vulnerable, just for her.

"Freudian slip, Love-"

His eyes widened and his hand shot to his mouth, staring at the table in shock.

Ramona started laughing.

"Sorry, who's the one slipping?"

"Oh, shut up!" He started walking again as she continued to giggle, having to jog a little to catch up to him again.

"I love it when you do that." She stated.

"Mm, you love it when I do most things." He commented quickly.

"I've never known someone to be so full of themselves, but at the same time so insecure, y'know that?" She took another sip of hot chocolate, looking away from him for a moment. "You're a bloody paradox."

"An unceasing paradox. Anything else to add to this never-ending list of backhanded compliments?"

"Let me sleep on it."

Suddenly he grabs her and pulls her into an alleyway, so small it can barely hold either of them.

Before she could register what was happening he was leaning in to kiss her. Alarms went off and she pushed him away quickly, so quickly that he almost hit his head on the brick wall behind him.

The alleyway was one that was so dark compared to the streets that it may as well have been a wall for the amount that people could see into it.

He scowled and hissed. "What?"

"What d'you think you're doing?!"

He frowned at her. "What do you _think_ I'm doing?!"

"In public? Really? In broad daylight?"

Sherlock let out a whine of frustration. "No one can see in here, Ramona! It's perfectly safe!"

"How do you know that?"

"Do you _really_ need to ask me that?"

She swallowed, and looked down. "Still, it's playing with fire, isn't it?"

"What am I supposed to do, Ramona? When I can't so much as touch you in public? What do you expect?"

"I expect you to behave like an adult."

He scoffed. "That's a lie. If you really wanted a mature and sensible adult, you'd never have wanted me."

A long, debating pause. She looked up at him, and in that moment, Sherlock appeared forlorn.

She didn't have to think about it anymore.

Ramona reached up onto her tiptoes, leaning up to him. She could sense his smile as she put her hand on the side of his face, and kissed him.

Sherlock wrapped his arms around her waist tightly, and in that little alley, on that quiet street, in that small portion of the huge, historical city, nothing else really mattered.

**###########################################**

The next hour, Ramona was sat at her office, hurriedly making notes on the Marrakech files she still hadn't completed. She'd been silly and prioritized other things over it, and now it was coming back to bite her in the behind. If she didn't get this finished by an hour ago, she'd be in trouble. So now, she was in a very, very deep hole.

Two knocks on the door, and Ramona called for whoever it was to come in.

Laura appeared, normally bright eyes a little downcast.

"You're in trouble, Miss Doherty."

Her heart leapt. "Trouble?"

"You still haven't finished those Marrakech files…"

"Fuck," She mumbled. This was what she got for having such an interesting life, wasn't it?

"The chairman wants a word with you."

A strike of fear hits her like lightning. "The chairman?"

A new chairman had been appointed very recently, last week. In fact, the entire company had changed hands, although it made very little difference to the actual employees.

"Would you like me to take you to his office?"

"How much trouble am I in, exactly?" Laura gave her a perplexed look. "Like, on a scale of parking ticket to the death penalty."

"Community service." She answers.

"I'm not sure if that's good or bad."

"It's just a scold." Laura tells her, as Ramona stands up, putting her computer onto standby. "You're being watched very carefully, y'know."

She sighes. "You know, that's not the first time I've heard that."

"But this can only be a good thing, when you think about it."

"I fail to see how being bad at my job is a good thing."

"You're being scouted for a senior role in the company. You're going to be picked up on every little slip up, it's to be expected."

"Oh, that's _wonderful_ news." Ramona remarks, making her way over to Laura. "I'll go on my own, thanks."

"No problem."

The chairman's office was encased within the top floor of the building; glass from ceiling to floor, expensive wood on the floor, a huge balcony on the second floor of it.

All of this had been revealed through a pair of wooden doors, that were opened by an assistant, who quickly closed them behind her.

There was a glass desk at the end of the large room in the centre, and it seemed like little work was actually done here – it looked more like a party pad than an office.

She made a B-line for the desk and the empty chair at it, trying desperately to ignore the silence, and in turn the heartbeat which could be heard pulsing in her ears.

Reaching the desk, she sat at the guest's chair, and crossed her legs, trying not to show how nervous she was. Were they going to shout at her?

No, this was a professional setting. Couldn't she sue if that happened, or something? Not that she would, but still.

What was she going to say? 'Sorry that I didn't do my job properly, but my boyfriend is actually really hot so I have to think about him a lot'? Oh, brilliant idea, why not just-

"Have you been waiting long?"

Ramona physically jumped, her heart stuttering with it.

Oh, no.

She should have seen this coming, really, shouldn't she?

Because who else would this happen to?

Ramona was staring ahead now, not daring to move her gaze from the fixed point of skyline.

Footsteps coming from behind her.

How was this happening?

Kain sat in the leather seat opposite her.

Everything that she built seemed to crumble in an instant.

He was still as good looking as the day they had first met. Those same piercing green eyes and strong jawline; the chocolate brown hair that he had to constantly run a hand through to keep out of his eyes, and those teeth that glinted in a malevolent grin.

"Well?" A smirk slowly spread across his face, satisfied and evil. Never a good combination. He leaned back in his chair, and raised his hands skywards, as if to gesture to the entire office. "Impressed?"

Ramona blinked once, so many emotions stirring within her that it was impossible to keep track. Instead of screaming or crying or passing out or launching herself at him, she simply stood up.

Yet as she was turning to leave, he wiggled one long index finger at her in warning.

"I wouldn't, if I were you."

Ramona looked back at him, eyes burning a sapphire fire of suffocating rage.

"I think I have something you'd like to see." He told her, patting at the desk, to beckon her to sit back down.

After debating her options, she slowly sat back down.

"Good girl."

Her lip curled in silent disgust.

"I see you're as talkative as ever, Coralie."

That name, combined with his voice, sent a chill straight through her spine. And not the good kind.

She reached into her suit jacket pocket, and produced a cigarette. She put it between her lips and lit up, taking a long drag, staring him out. Ramona let out the lungful of smoke, and half surprised herself with the amount of hate she felt towards him.

"I wish you were dead." Were the first five words she could seem to tell him.

His predatory smirk only grew.

"I wasn't expecting the welcome of a champion." His eyes didn't leave hers for a second, and it occurred to her just how chilling he was.

"You know," She started, "With those looks, it takes a lot to be repulsive, and yet… you pull it off flawlessly."

He chuckled darkly. "I do love a good jaded heroine, don't you?" His long fingers intertwined on the desk as he leaned forwards. "Makes her all the more… magnetic." He put extra emphasis on the last syllable.

"What is it you want, Kain?" A stream of smoke escaped from the end of her cigarette in between her fingers.

"Me?" He shrugged, his hand reaching into his pocket. "I don't want much."

He produced a thick, brown envelope from the pocket, setting it on the spotless glass of the desk, sliding it over to her.

Her gaze rested on it for a moment, before glancing up to him, and then back down.

She reached out for it, taking it in her hands and reaching inside. He watched intently, as she took out a single white rectangle.

"No, I don't want much,"

Ramona turned over the paper.

A picture from only a few hours ago had been printed out.

The image consisted of Ramona, Sherlock, an alleyway, and a kiss.

"Only to wish the happy couple the _best_ of luck."

* * *

**Sorry for the long wait! **

**My old laptop broke for a SECOND time, so I ended up just getting a replacement :)**

**How was this chapter? Oh, and what do you think of the new cover?**

**Thanks for reading, virtual hugs if you decide to review, it motivates me to write quicker!**


	78. Heart-Shaped Box

**Heart-Shaped Box - Nirvana**

**I own nothing!**

* * *

The cigarette in that had been in Ramona's hand only moments ago now met with the ground.

"You look confused." Kain summarised, still as satisfied as ever.

How could she have been so stupid?

"What- what is this?"

"This," He leans forward. "Is me winning."

"Winning?"

Ramona sighed heavily, putting the photo back on the desk, this time face-down.

"Alright, what do you intend to do with these? I very much doubt you just fancied hanging the photos in your hallway; so what is it? Blackmail?"

"Blackmail?" Kain repeated, incredulous in tone and manner. "Nothing of the sort, Coralie. No, this - this is simply having the upper-hand."

"You should have stayed gone."

"I never _was_ gone. If you paid any attention you'd have realised that by now."

"What?"

"I've been watching you. Or, at least, my people have been."

Her jaw turned sharper as it tensed, looking away. "And what about this job? This office?"

"I bought the company." He replied, nonchalantly.

"With what money?"

"You think I threw you to the wolves for nothing?"

Ramona blinked in surprise, gaze rising to meet his. "I thought you were being blackmailed."

"One thing about me, Coralie; I can't be blackmailed." He fixed the cuff of his white shirt under his sleeve. "Because I just don't care about anything."

"Yet you can't seem to leave me in peace."

At this, he laughed. "You really still are as stupid as the day we met, aren't you?"

"And you're still a raging narcissist. Oh, the nostalgia." Another deep laugh, and she felt sick to her stomach. "But I know you didn't come here to reminisce, Kain."

When she said his name, he closed his eyes in satisfaction, letting out a small sigh and leaning back into his chair. Her stomach flipped when they quickly snapped open to meet hers.

"I came here for you."

"I'm not available."

"I think I've just cleared your schedule, don't you?"

"I'll _kill_ you." She snarled, anger starting to boil her blood.

He simply laughed. "I look forward to it."

"What would you do with the photos if I called your bluff?"

"I'd send them to the papers, obviously." Ramona cocked her head. "His big brother doesn't like surprises much, does he?"

A pang of shock. "How do you know about that?"

He chuckled. "I am much more powerful than you ever knew, Coralie. I've built my army, forged my ammunition…" Kain smiled serenely. "And now I want my empire."

_Fuck._

Ramona quickly took hold of the thick envelope. "How about destroying the photos? You don't have copies, otherwise you wouldn't be able to prove their authenticity."

He gave her a pitying look. "Of course I have copies. Do you really think I'm such an idiot as to put the only copies on a desk in front of you?"

"You might be lying."

"Go ahead - burn them. Throw them off the balcony, if you want." He shrugged. "It makes no difference to me."

A hot hand of frustration grabbed at her heart and squeezed it tight as she put the photos back onto the desk.

Kain took her in for a moment, heavy and dark emotions flitting through his amber eyes.

"Do you accept it?" He broke the silence.

"Accept what?"

"Your defeat."

Ramona was in deep here, she knew that much.

"Why are you doing this?"

He sighed shortly. "Do I really need an excuse? If you know me well enough, then you should have realised by now that I just love to play the villain. Always had a flair for the frightening."

"You don't scare me."

"Then why are you shaking?"

It was only now that Ramona realised her hands were trembling. She willed them to stop by clasping them together.

"What do you want? Money? Favours?"

A giddy laugh of excitement left him; clearly he had been looking forward to this part.

"Do you really think I need money? Look at me!"

Her eyes narrowed. Anyone else would have been smothered by the pure hatred in her gaze. "You learnt a lot from Magnussen, didn't you?"

"A thing or two." He admitted.

"And look how well it ended up for him." She stared him down. "None of that money meant anything at all when I shot him, Kain. I'm not as tame as you think I am."

"Exactly. You're the only thing that really poses any threat to me anymore." His sharp teeth glinted in a smile. "A wild card."

"What about Sherlock?" His expression darkened. "He could kill you. He could send everything you've worked for up in smoke in a few hours. Minutes, if you _really_ piss him off."

"But you wouldn't let him, would you?"

Ramona swallowed and looked away, a nerve obviously having been struck.

"What do you want me to do?"

At this, Kain stood up. Only now, in a less shocked state, was she able to evaluate him. He had definitely gained strength in mind and body, powerful, looking as if he could snap her in two with a pinch of his fingers. He was dressed in a designer black suit, matching tie, with a white shirt underneath.

He walked around and leaned his frame against the desk next to Ramona, looking down at her.

"Stand up." A sneer of cold command, and she knew he was done with flirting around the topic.

However, she stayed still, as if he was a predator that could only sense movement, and if she stayed put for long enough he'd forget about her.

"Now." Kain demanded, his tone impatient.

Swallowing her pride, she stood up. Ramona found she couldn't take her eyes off the floor.

"Look at me."

_Sherlock._

"Do it."

At the thought of Sherlock, she started to break inside, wanting nothing but him, his warm arms wrapped around her, his voice like a jaguar and his-

Kain grabbed her jaw and yanked it up so that she was forced to meet his eyes. The touch shocked her, and she now became acutely aware of just how strong he was, as if she had forgotten after so many years.

"When I tell you to do something, you do it. First time." Nothing but silence from Ramona. He ripped his hand away from her. "Don't you?"

"Yes." A small murmur, but it was there. "What do you want me to do?"

"I need you to provide me with a bit of cover."

She frowned. "Cover?"

"People are far less suspecting of a man with a childhood sweetheart."

"It was my childhood. You were nothing but a criminal that needed validation from a naïve young girl."

He laughed. "Psychology night classes much, Freud?"

"You took advantage of me."

"And then I got bored of you." He shrugged, putting his hands in his pockets, and looking away from her for the first time since the start of the meeting, his amber gaze now trailing out of the glass onto the sky outside, daubed and scratched with scarlets and blood reds of the setting sun. "It happens every time." A short introspective sigh, then darting his gaze back to her. "But I've grown tired of money, and buildings, and cars, private jets… So I decided I'd mess with you for a while."

She scoffed. "What are you, some sort of fucked up, less appealing, knock-off Mr Grey?"

His smile grew. "I've missed you, Coralie."

"The feeling isn't mutual, trust me."

A small chuckle, then: "Yes, well…" He looked away again, taking a few steps away to her and closer to the balcony doors, admiring the view.

Ramona watched him silently, how the plates of his shoulders stretched against the expensive fabric of his suit, broad shoulders calmly rising and falling with each breath he took.

It was then that he turned around, a certain glint in his eyes now.

"The bedroom's upstairs." Kain said, "I'll meet you there in a few minutes, there are some things in need of my attention beforehand."

A jolt of disbelief hit her, widening her eyes and twinging at her heart. For a moment, she couldn't move.

"What?"

"Oh, you didn't think I'd want a kiss on the cheek as a welcome back, did you?"

"You're revolting."

One step towards her.

"How much do you like your little boyfriend, Coralie?"

The words stuck in her throat, clogged her arteries like a life-threatening sickness. She wouldn't talk about her happiness – not in front of the very thing that threatened it.

"Fuck off."

Kain chuckled. "A lot, then. And yet you won't even do this for him?"

"He wouldn't want this."

"What he doesn't know can't hurt him."

"It'll hurt me."

He smiled. "Why else would I do it?"

Ramona thought she was going to burst into tears. Could anyone really be so evil, with no motive apart from the pursuit of maliciousness?

"If you're really going to be so pathetic," He took a step towards her, and her hand flew towards a pearl-handled letter opener on the desk, brandishing it at an arm's length.

"One. More. Step." Strong voice, faltering, shaking body. Giving her away.

The only thing this brought to his expression was bemusement, as if his pet cat had given its first soft play-bite. This only fuelled her frustration, as she slowly started to back away towards the door.

"Stay away from me, Kain." He watched her like a baby taking its first steps. "Don't let me ever see you again."

Her back hit the solid wood of the door, and put her hand on the bronze doorknob, twisting it and-

A small click indicated that the door was locked.

_Fuck._

He let out a low laugh as he closed the distance between them.

Ramona put the blade of the letter opener to his neck, digging into the bottom of his Adam's apple, blue eyes torching amber.

"Don't touch me!"

Then there was that familiar flash of rage from him, taking a rough hold of the wrist holding the blade, slamming it back into the door with enough force to send a sudden flash of pain through her right arm, in turn sending the knife to the floor.

Now his handsome face was contorted in aggression, a snarl across his features, as he leaned in closer to her, and her head pressed to the door pushing away from him.

"My office is completely soundproofed." He growled. "You may have gotten away with murder twice before, but three times is pushing it, don't you think?"

Outrage and fury and desperation hit her at the same time.

She kicked out at him but it did nothing, and before Ramona knew it she was grappling to get out of his iron grip, trying to push him away with her arms and he grunted to keep her in position. But it was as useless as a fly wrestling in a spider's web, like flailing only sealed her fate.

He inevitably won, and now sneered at her, noses almost touching, both breathless from the struggle.

"Scum." She snarled.

He let out a humourless laugh, and without warning he trapped her in a forceful kiss.

Ramona screwed her eyes shut in revulsion, pushing herself away from him all she could, but it made no difference either way.

His fingers were pressing to her skin too much, digging in painfully.

Then his mouth moved to her neck, and his hands slipped under her shirt.

"Please," She whispered at first. "Stop. Stop!"

He didn't.

Ramona felt tears start to prick at her eyes shamefully. Humiliation washed over her and pulled her under its tide.

Rigidly, she didn't move from the spot.

Closed her eyes.

Waited for the worst.

And then, there was a knock at the door.

He froze, stayed like that for a moment, and then sighed, straightening up, and looking at her as if they had just negotiated a maritime shipping agreement.

"Straighten yourself out, and leave." She couldn't speak with the shock, knowing what he was about to do, left her mouth dry, her palms clammy, and her throat sandpaper. Tentatively, she started to do as was instructed, her trembling hands only just managing the task competently.

**###########################################**

She never wanted to go home.

All she wanted to do was to disappear. Not even die, just disintegrate into thin air, cease to exist. Right now, that seemed like a lovely avenue to walk up.

How could she face Sherlock after what had happened?

Ramona let out a heavy, teary sigh.

The city was dark now, and the glass office cathedrals lit up against the starless sky. Lights hung between lampposts on the Southbank, and a hundred yards to her left a market bustled with energy, little pop-up cafes, clothes shops and gaudy tourist traps sat happily. The Tower of London looked out of place from across the river, lit up by floodlights from underneath, a relic of when brutality was less subtle.

Sitting down on a bench, she looked over the Thames. An immovable, invisible, inanimate object in a blur of warm light and motion.

_Will he know?_

It was a dirty river. Filthy and repulsive and disgusting. She could… relate.

Taking out a cigarette, she quickly lit up and put in between her lips, taking a long, strangely unsatisfying drag. Odd, that even her nicotine addiction couldn't fix her now.

Hateful. It was all hateful. The group of uni students laughing and leaning on the railings, the old married couple, the obnoxious tourists, she hated them all. All so obliviously happy, she felt as if she didn't belong. Odd one out, just like always.

But she couldn't do anything. She wanted to scream, or cry, or go to the police, or _something_, but she was trapped. Now she was under his sprawling, suffocating, crushing thumb, and there was no escape. There could be no happy ending, not now – not even the mediocre one she had been dreaming of.

Tearing up again, she hunched forwards, pulling her coat closer to her back, and pressed the back of her thumb to her forehead, elbow on her knees, wishing the world to go away. Wishing for it to stop turning. Why was it that every silver cloud had a deathly grey lining?

They should have never gotten into a relationship. Not like this. It could be used against them so simply! They were idiots.

She had managed to put Sherlock in danger for the simple act of loving him. There was nothing in the world more painful than that. Why was nothing ever easy?

Ramona didn't have an out. She couldn't kill him, she couldn't go to Mycroft, she couldn't go to Sherlock… No one. There was no one that could help her.

"Ramona?"

She lifted her head and looked to the side, and saw someone she didn't want to.

_Please. Go away. Please._

Shadows pooled under his cheekbones, in the hollows of his eyes. Sherlock stood there, his hands in his coat pockets, smiling now. Blissfully unaware of the despair eating her alive.

"Sherlock," She greeted, trying to pick up her tone with a polite smile, trying desperately to seem fine.

His expression faltered as he sat beside her. "What's wrong?"

She hated that. How he could read her from one word and a look in her eye.

"Hm?" She smiled again. "Oh, nothing. Just thinking."

His brow creased. "About?"

"Just… work. I finished some paperwork late…" Her voice trailed off. "And-and I got a little bit reprimanded for it."

"Oh." He thought about that. "It's nothing that'll be a huge hindrance, is it?"

She pursed her lips and shook her head, looking away, unable to meet his eyes. "Nope. Nothing important."

"Well, you should quit. There's simply no logic behind you being out of the house for so long every day for no plausible reason."

"I'll take tomorrow off, actually." She concluded. "Pull a sickie."

"Ooh, how daring of you." He winked.

"Why're you out here, anyway?"

"I thought you'd never ask." His eyes gleamed, and she knew it was to do with the case. "I've just been doing some research; thought I'd enjoy the view of the walk."

"'Enjoy the view'? Who are you, and what've you done with Sherlock Holmes?" He laughed, and looked at her fondly. "Seriously, I'm beginning to think all of that rudeness was just manifested sexual frustration."

"You're probably onto something. I _do_ feel a lot more pleasant most of the time, anyway. Only in the last fifteen minutes, there was one of those preachers on the street, handing people leaflets and blessing them. Instead of stopping and publicly humiliating, I just smiled and walked straight past him."

"Hm, don't get too nice, though. Don't like you like that." She joked, causing him to smile. "Anyway, the case."

"Oh, yes. It's potentially one of the most interesting murders I've ever dealt with, Ramona."

"Describe it in three words."

Sherlock grinned. "Twisted. Sadistic. Genius."

"I said the case, not you." She teased, causing him to chuckle, his eyes creasing with a grin. God, he was so happy. The only way Ramona hadn't possibly noticed this before, was, well, because she had been, too. What she wouldn't give to force her way back into that rose-coloured bubble.

"They're linked, as we discussed yesterday. The disappearance of Paul and consequent death of Ben along with Kate and her fiancé – they go hand in hand."

"So a serial killer? That's what we're looking for?"

"Yes."

"What sort? Are the victims linked?"

Sherlock's expression faltered again, but then picked up that same happy face. She frowned. A slip of a mask?

"No." He said. "It's likely that we're dealing with an opportunistic killer – picking up hitchhikers or offering to give couples with a broken down car a lift to the nearest garage. Then drugging them."

"Fun for the whole family!" She exclaimed.

Sherlock's face somehow brightened, his pitch heightening. "My thoughts exactl-!" Ramona gave him a look. "Oh. You were being ironic."

"I'm always being ironic. Don't you know me at all?"

"Unfortunately." He said it in good humour, and she pulled a smile to her surface.

But after she thought it was alright, she looked away, and the expression dropped. A chilling breeze suddenly swept over them, sending a wisp of hair across Ramona's face.

Sherlock went to tuck it behind her ear, but she uncontrollably flinched away from his touch before he could. Hurt hit him first, then confusion.

"Ramona?" Her heart ached at his expression, as if he'd just been mortally wounded.

"S-sorry." She stammered, "I just – just – it's cold. Can we go home, please?"

For a moment his eyes narrowed, and for a moment she worried, before seeing him disregard it mentally.

**###########################################**

"_Time's up, Ramona."_

_He never used that name._

_This wasn't real._

_He wouldn't, if it wasn't a-_

"_Look at me when I speak to you!"_

_Her chest shook with the noise and her head snapped up, mouth parting at what she faced._

_She could see him for what he really was; behind that pretty face lay a monster._

_His amber eyes glowed like a wolf's and his teeth were a shark's, lots of small, triangular, pointy and white teeth, ready to bite off a limb or two. _

_Sherlock outstretched a hand, and his nails were long and sharp, and as he ran his hand down her arm, he sliced her open, and she started to bleed._

_Crying out, muffled, she steps back, putting a hand to her already healed wound._

"_Sherlock, what are you-"_

_He disappeared._

_Ramona daren't breath, alone now, looking around in the darkness for something, anything._

_A small light, rectangular and bright, winked at her in the distance._

_That was when the wolves came._

_Their noses curled in snarls, snapping at her heels. _

_Then she was running, but the light never got any closer, and the wolves never slowed._

_A sudden drop._

_Falling, and then, caught._

_Or landed. It was difficult to tell._

_But now she was on her feet, and it was Baker Street, and it was home, and it was safe._

_Relaxing, the music crackling from a record player hummed vaguely from the table. In a moment, she recognised it, or maybe the tune changed, to the Moonlight Sonata. It was harrowing yet smooth, bleak yet soothing. Comforting chaos. Just like home. _

_Beethoven's fingers danced across the keys, and she was fine. _

_Sherlock then appeared, or it was only then that she noticed him, stood in the hallway._

_He seemed to loom, to look at her as if he didn't know she was looking straight back at him. Straight through her. His expression was frightening, not in an angry sense, but it was so horrifyingly void of compassion, of that kindness kept a secret for the deemed worthy, so empty and gone. He was gone. There was nothing in his eyes, only a blank stare remained. _

_Sherlock didn't blink, and as the music picked up he turned, and walked into his bedroom. _

_The music calmed again, and Ramona, curious, followed him into the bedroom._

_Inside, the room was dark._

_The wallpaper was peeled and the bed was bare, only a mattress atop its frame. The door slammed shut and the wind howled outside. _

_Sherlock was the only thing that moved. The only movement he produced was the shuddering of his shoulders._

_He had his back to her, sat on the edge of the bed, his face in his hands and his elbows resting on his legs in the darkness._

_Her heart jumped to her throat, and she wanted to leave._

_Turning back, Ramona tried the door._

_The handle broke off in her hand - turned to dust in her palm._

_Slowly looking round to that broken vision of Sherlock, she found that he had not moved._

_Carefully, gently, she walked over to him. Her footsteps creaked on the old floorboards, her shoes rustled in leaves and cracked on the broken glass._

_Coming closer, she saw that he was hunched over something, one large fist tightened around something, another hiding his sobbing face._

"_Sh…" Ramona struggled to produce his name. "Sherlock…"_

_No reply._

_The wind picked up, and the crackle of the record player grew. Unrecognisable white noise and the war of nature._

_His hand loosened around the object._

_Tentatively, she took hold of his hand._

_She cried out in pain and pulled back instantly. His skin burned white hot, so scorching that it was cold. A tear fell onto his hand, and it hissed and evaporated at the temperature. _

_Ramona didn't care. For the second time she reached out to him, and held his hand in hers. It burned like nothing imaginable and tears of pain welled, but she only took a tighter hold of him._

"_Sherlock?"_

_He wouldn't acknowledge her. The pain made her feel dizzy, reeling internally._

"_Sherlock, please."_

_Nothing changed, except for the loosening of his hand._

_Ramona took what it was, and looked for herself._

_A silver locket, still ice cool despite contact with him. It was engraved with so much detail and beauty; miniscule roses crawled up the sides and small indentations that created a masterpiece. However, it was starting to rust. The chain was turning copper._

_She clicked it open, and the first thing she saw she half wished she hadn't._

_A picture of her, smiling. Ramona didn't recognise it, her surroundings or her clothes, but it was her._

_Her throat was choked in a sob. Looking back to him, his state had worsened, his skin was so pale it was sallow. Sherlock appeared on the brink of death._

_Everything suddenly turned silent._

"_Ramona." Sherlock whispered tearfully. _

_Her eyes widened. Putting a gentle hand to his singing face, she slowly lifted it up, out of his hands, so that he could look at her. _

_But his expression didn't change. That same mournful, sorrowful look lingered, as he stared at her._

"_She's dead." Her mouth parted. "Please, tell me how to find her."_

Ramona shot up in bed, breathing heavily and too quickly for her to keep up, her entire body drenched in sweat.

Staring wide-eyed through the darkness, her nightmare upset her just as much awake as asleep.

Sherlock stirred beside her, his blue eyes now open, as he slowly sat up, too. His expression was concerned, but uninformed.

"Night terror?" He asked, putting a hand on her back. Sherlock didn't so much as flinch at the sweat.

All she could do was nod, lips pursed as she desperately tried to regain her breath through her nose.

"What about, Love?" He asked softly, moving his hand now to stroke her hair comfortingly.

Ramona shook her head, in fear that if she were to say anything, her voice would snap under the weight of threatening tears.

"Come on, Ramona." He tried to simultaneously comfort and coax her. "Something's been wrong with you ever since I caught you on that bench." Sherlock paused. "Regretfully, there are far too many things that it could possibly be for me to make an educated estimation."

Ramona swallowed, and then looked to him. "It was about you."

A blink of shock from him, and then a crease of his brow. "What happened?"

"Just a lot of confusing things, really."

"It's concerning that you're having nightmares about me."

"I have nightmares about everything. It's fine. Really."

"You never have nightmares when we sleep in the same bed." Sherlock stated, "Haven't you observed how much more relaxed you are with me?"

She sighed, now half-calm, resting on him for support. Sherlock lay down with her head on his chest.

A moment of silence. He hummed lowly as he pressed a kiss into her hair soothingly.

"Why me, Sherlock?"

He frowned, looking down at her. "What?"

"Why did you ever choose me? That's a greater mystery than anything else you've ever come across. I'm sure you're still trying to figure it out yourself."

His frown deepened. "I don't understand the question."

"Why did you ever… want me? Why me in particular? You could have your pick of anyone you wanted. For some reason you went for the murderer with a short fuse, and a chip on her shoulder."

"Ramona…" He said it in a disapproving tone. "You're not a good judge of your own character."

She laughed quietly. "Then you're blind."

"Well, you know how the saying goes." She sighed, closing her eyes and listening to his heartbeat, as he played with her hand in his. "The truth is, Ramona, I could go for years describing you, listing off everything that draws me to you, but the fact remains, that none of these qualities are unique in themselves. I don't know why I love you, just like I don't know why the world turns or why my eyes are blue. But all of that remains, so, naturally, all of that is true."

Now calm, Ramona feels her heart steady, beating at the same rate as his.

"Scientifically, I love you because you raise my dopamine, norepinephrine, and serotonin level. Psychologically, because of our similarity, hopefully reciprocal liking, and your desirable qualities." Sherlock gently took her chin in his fingers and lifted her face to his, looking at each other as sleepily as lovingly. "Poetically, if ever any beauty I did see, which I desired, and got, 'twas but a dream of thee. And now good-morrow to our waking souls, which watch not one another out of fear; for love, all love of other sights controls, and makes one little room an everywhere."

Ramona waited a moment, before bursting into laughter.

"Did you seriously just recite _love poetry_ to me? Am I still asleep? Is this another nightmare?" She laughed again, and he shrugged, grinning at her.

"Shut up. I read it years ago, when I was dead. Somewhere in the outback of Australia, actually."

"Oh?"

"Yeah. I'd walked for…" He seemed to dig the memory up. "What felt like days on end. I finally reached a small, wooden house in the middle of the nothingness. There was one tree, one chipped red tow truck, and one armchair creaking in the warm breeze out on the patio. I knew I'd been saved. I walked in; the door was ajar and I could hear the radio playing. The first room I went into was the kitchen - I hadn't eaten or drank anything in at least twelve hours. A nineteen-fifties heartthrob was crooning over the old stereo, and on the wooden table, there was a small, old poetry book. Well thumbed, a little message in the inside cover. It was open on that page. It caught my eye, and I stopped and read it." Sherlock's eyes were filling up. "I got this sort of… I don't know, hollow feeling in my chest, and all I could think about was you. I read it over and over again in the delirium of mild heat stroke, and – um, and..."

She was speechless.

Sherlock seemed to come out of the trance suddenly as a tear skipped down his cheek, he quickly sniffed and wiped his eyes, clearing his throat. He was looking away, refusing to meet her gaze.

"Sorry. I – I don't know what came over me."

"Sherlock," Ramona put a gentle hand on the side of his face that she couldn't see. "Look at me."

Slowly, he turned to her. He looked apologetic, and it broke her heart a little.

She leaned closer, and kissed him tenderly.

**###########################################**

When the pair made their way to Paul's house that morning, it was done in the fog of the London morning.

The suburbs were still quiet, as Sherlock walked up the drive, past the BMW, and knocked on the door.

A small woman, around her late forties, answered the door.

"Hello," He reached out to shake her hand. "I'm Detective Inspector Lestrade. This is my colleague," Sherlock looked to Ramona. "Gilet Minyon."

Her eyes widened and she had to fake a cough to mask her laugh.

"Hi."

"Sorry, but we've already had the police round."

"Yes, but not the special homicide squad." Sherlock insisted, as he politely forced entry into the house (as if that made it any better), Ramona following.

The house was a typical 40-something residence, traces of kids long grown and left home visible, now left with the aftermath of 18-year-long storms.

Paul sat on a beige armchair in the living room, legs crossed, glasses on, and engaging himself in a newspaper. Sherlock's expression didn't falter as he approached him.

"So, Mr Tenebern, what was your relationship with Ben?"

Paul did a double take at the suddenness of it all, glaring up at Sherlock from his spectacles, as he angrily set down the paper.

"Excuse me?"

Sherlock rolled his eyes, sitting down on the chair next to him. "I said-"

"Inspector Lestrade asked how you've been in these last few particularly tragic days, Mr Tenebern."

Paul looked done with both of them, and they hadn't even properly spoken yet. "I'm managing, thank you for your concern." He watched Ramona as she fiddled with her leather jacket. One moment, and then; "Don't I know you?"

She frowned, blinked. "Me?"

"I recognise your face." His eyes narrowed. "I feel like I've seen you before."

Ramona feigned confusion impressively well. "Sorry, but you must be mistaken. We've never met."

"Hm. Alright."

Sherlock let half a second of silence pass. "So, Mr Tenebern, you said that you hitched a ride, is that correct? If so, do you remember what they looked like?"

"Yes." He swallowed, nodded. "Yes. She, she was, um…" Paul put a big hand to his face, shoulders slumping.

Ramona suddenly felt guilty for pushing him, but a small ball of frustration tightened in her stomach on seeing Sherlock's fingers grip into the arm of his chair, leg bouncing uncontrollably, as if he held a storm within himself.

"She was beautiful." That took something out of her. "Long black hair, large bust."

"Eye colour?"

"It was dark; I didn't get a look."

"And when was it that you blacked out?"

"She said that she was moving, so that was why she had the van. She took out a flask, offered it to us, and the… the next thing I know I'm…"

"Yes?"

"In an underground bunker. It was so small, stifling hot, dark all the time… I wasn't sure what was happening."

"Then what happened?"

Silence. His mouth made a thin line, pressed tightly together, eyes cast downwards.

"Mr Tenebern?"

"Don't you know? Haven't – don't you already know that?" The silence from the detectives gave nothing away. "I… I killed him, detectives. She, she made me." They exchanged a look. "She made me!"

* * *

**Im so sorry for the long wait, second time on the trot! I've been quite put upon with school, although that's not really an excuse :/  
**

**Kain's a dick, isn't he?**

**Thanks for being patient with me and for reading, I won't stop you from leaving a review!**


End file.
